Zero Gravity
by Jocson
Summary: As far as research groups go, the Research Flotilla named Indomitable was supposed to be as generic as they come. Everyone posted in such a group were usually placed in essentially dead end jobs. A sudden attack changes all of their lives, as the task of rebuilding humanity is left to them. And it wouldn't be easy, as war looms in the background. And war... war never changes.
1. Point Zero

**ZERO GRAVITY**

 **CHAPTER 1:**

 **POINT ZERO**

 **October 22, 2549 0621**

 **CFV-102 UNSC Transcendent  
Heimdall System  
UNSC STRATRESREG  
Research Flotilla **_**Indomitable**_

"We found the substance around 40 kilometers deep in the moon's crust, roughly three hours ago. I only just received word from the ground team; Solar Flares are disrupting local communications, with the immense gravity well causing miniature earth quakes every half an hour or so. Scans show that in roughly two hours, volcanic activity on Thalus might make it impossible for a pickup of the research team on the ground."

"What's so important about this that you had to come find me yourself, Doctor? You could've just called, looks like a simple extraction op anyway."

Lisa's face adopted a look of concentration, adjusting the glasses on her face as she tapped away on the datapad in her hands. Illuminated by the glow of Thalus, the moon of the gas giant Xandaria, the bridge of the Transcendent was lit up with activity. Crewmen walked (with some lightly jogging) to one station or another, as the massive gravitational pulls from Xandaria put stress on the Transcendent's structure. The crew's efforts of maintaining the ship in constant orbit over Thalus was an affair that required the participation of everyone, AI included, every second of the tim

e that they spent there.

Captain Garland took a sip from his morning coffee, sitting down on the Captain's chair as the doctor followed him.

"Good morning Samuel." Garland said, logging into the Captain's Station terminal as the AI terminal beside him lit up with an orange light, the ship's onboard AI appearing. Dressed in a 17th Century British Naval Uniform, Samuel bowed lightly to Garland, his sailor cap pressed firmly on his chest as he greeted the Captain a good morning, doing the same to the doctor as the woman smiled lightly at her while handing Garland her data pad.

"Read." Lisa said, motioning to the data pad in Garland's hands.

The Captain flexed his fingers, placing the datapad on his desk.

"Samuel, load this to my terminal will you." He lightly commanded, handing the datapad back to the doctor as Samuel uttered a soft "Done, Captain" in his British drawl.

A beep emanated from Garland's terminal, prompting the man to open the file the doctor had just prepared.

"Okay, standard research procedures…well within safety protocols." He began, his eyes dancing down at the report. "Huh, non-stop 24-hour dig huh?" Garland inquired, spinning around to look at Lisa with a speculative gaze. "I'm going to assume your people took shifts, Doctor Morrow."

"Read on." She said, uncrossing her arms. "Had this been a simple extraction, I'd have deferred for the help of the other ships in the fleet. Unfortunately, we're running out of time and the Transcendent was the nearest ship."

Garland read on, his eyes widening with every second as he took in the report.

"What do you mean 'has no mass?' That's not possible? Is it? Are you sure the ground team didn't get their scans wrong?" Garland asked, standing up as he continued reading the report.

"Positive. Preliminary, secondary and then tertiary scans showed the substance we've found has a mass equal to zero." Lisa said, shaking her head to Samuel. "Bring up the charts."

A 3D hologram of the ground team's scans illuminated the bridge, momentarily catching every crewman's attention, before the urgency of their tasks took their time once more.

Garland looked up from the datapad, handing it back to the Doctor as he analyzed the charts. In his 10 years in the Navy, he had never seen anything like this new 'substance' the eggheads had found. The reports, while astounding and scientifically intriguing, were marred with very real concerns. It was not the substance's lack of mass that bothered him; it was its effect on technology. Its abnormal feature of having no mass seemed to be able to _cover_ other objects as well, usually with explosive tendencies.

It was obvious that the research team wanted to bring back samples with them, but to do so meant risking an exposure of a dropship, and consequently, lives to the unknown substance.

The doctor moved forward unperturbed, unaware of Captain Garland's thoughts and worries.

"As you can see, the substance, which we've dubbed as Element Zero for now, seems to affect every other object around it. It's had adverse effects on our weaponry especially, causing various reactions within bullets. We were aware of the communications blackout that might occur, considering the solar flares," Lisa said, tucking a strand of her short hair behind her ear, "But," she said dejectedly, "We've lost some lives due to unintended small arms fire due to the substance. Needless to say, we want to take some of the substance back for study."

Garland just nodded, crossing his hands behind him. "How many?" He asked.

Lisa looked down, quietly saying "Two from the security detail, and one scientist. Doctor Solus."

"Do you have any idea how to shield what we have against this substance?" Garland inquired, stating the question more to Samuel than Lisa.

Samuel stayed silent for a few moments, adopting a look of deep thinking as he paced back and forth, the sailor's cap he had still pressed on his chest.

"Well, I'd wager that the chemical resistant containers we currently have on board wouldn't work, considering the substance's radiation like features. Magma CR1 coated containers are also out. Interesting. Perhaps an empty Fusion Cell should be able to do the job." Samuel said, a light smile on his lips as he wore his sailor's cap.

Lisa nodded, rubbing her chin as the redheaded woman looked up to the holographic display.

"Yes, yes it might. It's designed to keep radiation from leaking."

Garland nodded happily. Sighing, he sat back down on the Captain's Chair, looking up at Samuel's holographic form.

"Do we have any?" He asked, and nodded with satisfaction at Samuel's curt 'yes.' "Good, then have engineering bring about six to the Docking Bay. Would six batteries be alright Doctor?"

"Yes, very." Lisa replied, typing furiously away at her datapad.

Garland raised an eyebrow at her, nodding as he looked back to Samuel. "Well, you heard the lady. Prep an extraction team. I want them ready within the hour."

Samuel saluted, declaring an 'At once, Captain' before disappearing from his holo projector.

"I should be going as well," said Lisa, walking away before Garland ever had the chance to dismiss her.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Garland turned back to the exterior view of the bridge, admiring Thalus' burning appearance. The many volcanoes erupting on the planet gave Thalus a look of a war ravaged terrestrial body rather than a habitable one.

The science team down there…' _what had they found'_ he thought. A substance without mass, and that could affect everything around it. _Damn._ It was a dangerous gamble, and he knew he was risking the Transcendent and the lives of its crew. But they were short on time, and the other ships already had their hands full with the science teams they were assigned with.

Garland sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the last five years caught up with him. He was turning 30 soon, and all in all, his career in the Navy wasn't much of waste. Captain of his own vessel at 25, and then another vessel at 28- a retrofitted Phoenix-Class Colony ship to boot- was already a major accomplishment in his life, and to be in command of a small fleet on top of what he already had just sweetened the deal for him.

Or it would have, had it been a combat fleet.

Instead, after a botched up extraction mission when he was 26, and a sling of publicly humiliating disregard for set tactics had put him in a position of handling a research flotilla- a dead end job.

It had its perks, like relative peace; but the soldier in him wanted to do more. He wanted to participate in the war against the Covenant, and being stuck in what was essentially a guard duty job of protecting scientists wasn't his idea of contributing to the cause.

The fact that they weren't making any groundbreaking, technological breakthroughs in the last year or so left a bad taste in every Marine, crewman, Captain and scientist in the fleet.

Still, they had orders. And in a case like today, Garland had orders to take anything that could help win the war and have the scientists study it extensively- regardless of the lives and safety of the ship or crew.

Something he didn't dare oppose, considering that ONI had invested into the research flotilla expecting success.

Garland massaged his temples, feeling a migraine coming up, loathing the fact that he had to deal with something like this really early in the morning.

He tapped a few commands into his console, allowing Samuel to take over for most of the crew's work. While he would have allowed Samuel to do almost the entirety of the crew's roles, he wanted a prepared and _on their toes_ attitude from his crew.

The holographic display in front of him suddenly flashed the mission status screen into existence, as Samuel flashed back into reality on his holographic tank.

"Sir, extraction team's ready to launch on your command." He intoned, just as the profiles of the three members of the extraction team flashed into existence on the holographic display.

"Good, have them launch." Garland said, tapping his fingers on his armrest as he wished silently, that whatever the science team brought back would help him get a combat posting on one of the many ships engaging the Covenant.

"At once." Samuel replied, saluting again as his hologram disappeared, leaving Garland to the silence of the bridge as crewmen rested for a while, taking a break from the tedious task of maintaining the ship in orbit around Thalus against the gas giant's gravity well.

 **Pelican Dropship November-299  
0700  
**

Flight Captain Dallas Bryce liked down times. It allowed him to rest, lick his wounds if he had any, and contemplate on the things he had done right and wrong in his life. Today, October 22, a normal Tuesday like any other during the last two years, was supposed to be gym day to him. Like most, he was sick of the non-combat tasks they've been doing for the past two years, and he was restless. He wanted to help, to ferry soldiers to and from battlegrounds, not act as some sort of babysitter to these scientists.

Some of his conversations with crewmen from the Bridge indicated that Captain Garland felt the same. Who wouldn't? Covenant slaughter humans in droves and here we were, having a pointless existence in the middle of nowhere with no sign of success anywhere from any of the research teams on the many vessels in the damned flotilla.

So, when his name was called up to do an extraction op groundside on Thalus, he was ecstatic. Any excuse to do something on the ship was a good excuse. ONI preventing any sort of shore leave on any inhabited planet made many angry, including the captains on the ship. Add to the fact that no breakthroughs were happening (at least according to rumor) just added insult to injury.

And so, October 22, Tuesday, found him sitting in the pilot seat of his beloved Pelican. A heavy duty container with empty Fusion Battery Cells was loaded up on the aft overhang at the back of the dropship, with the extraction team, Zodiac-1, sitting quietly in the main compartment (though he favored the name Blood Ramp much better).

He put on his helmet, doing the customary checks for volume adjustments, mic checks and the like.

" _UNSC Transcendent Dock Control, this is November-299, how copy?"_

" _This is Transcendent Dock Control, radio check confirmed. Commence flaps and thruster checks."_

Bryce leaned forward, raising his hand above his head to reach out to flick the flap releases on.

"Lieutenant Howard, commence flap and thruster checks." He commanded, looking to his right, observing his co-pilot's actions.

"Checking flaps and thrusters." Howard said, and as if on cue, the mechanical whirrs and sounds of gushing compressed air echoed in the small cockpit, as the check commenced. Howard had leant to his right, observing the flaps under the right wing of the Pelican as Bryce followed suit to his left.

" _Flaps and thruster checks complete. No system errors detected."_ Howard declared, adjusting the volume on his helmet as he pressed and flicked several buttons and switches on his dashboard.

" _Confirmed November-299. General Advisory: Solar flares and seismic activity on Phalus might knock out communications with the Transcendent. Be advised that should anything happen down there, you're on your own."_

Bryce stared at Howard, who merely shrugged, before he replied in earnest to the Transcendent Operator.

" _We read you Dock Control. Coordinates on the research base show it's in the dark side of the moon. Confirm?"_

" _Confirmed. The gravity well of Xandaria shouldn't bother you down there."_

Bryce nodded, bringing out a notepad as he wrote scribbled equations and notes on the little booklet. Howard merely observed, strapping himself into the chair as he watched Bryce nod in satisfaction, pocketing the small notepad in the breast pocket of his flight suit.

"We should have two more hours before the base hits sunrise, _and_ the more ridiculous pull of the gravity well. Easy enough. You ready?" He asked, looking on inquisitively at Howard, who merely nodded back.

Turning on the onboard Comms System, he repeated the question to the extraction team, merely getting the 'okay' hand gestures as the loud whirrs of the engines drowned out their shouts.

Securing himself into the seat one last time, Bryce turned to the dashboard in front of him, gripping the Pilot's stick as he opened the comms channel to the Dock Controller once more.

" _Dock Control, this is November-299 requesting for detachment, clearance code Sierra 2-1-4 Foxtrot how copy?"_

" _Clearance code received. Detachment confirmed, you are green for takeoff. Good hunting."_

Bryce leaned forward, flicking the switch to detach the Pelican from the Magnetic Railing, letting the dropship float on the power of its own engines. All four whirred in power, lifting the Pelican and its payload into the air as the 'Blood Ramp' closed.

"Bring her out Lieutenant." Bryce commanded, transferring control of the Pelican to Howard. "Stick is yours."

"Stick is mine," Howard intoned, before pushing the dropship forward and out of the docking bay and into the milky blackness of space.

Every time they did this, Bryce couldn't help but be left in awe of what humanity had achieved in the entirety of its existence. From their cradle that was Earth, they had blasted forward and into the future, exploring space. The scene before him was astounding, as the small dropship neared Phalus, the moon, the large rings of what he could only assume were small rocks that circled the gas giant Xandaria peaked out from the corners of Phalus' dark silhouette. It extended beyond the horizon, with the large body of Xandaria simply dwarfing the smaller Phalus, its rings prominently displayed.

"Beautiful…" Bryce muttered to himself, rejoicing internally in the fact that he was _born_ in this time period, a time of exploration and discovery.

Too bad the Covenant and the Insurrectionists had to muck the thrilling time period up.

Howard himself was quietly observing the scenery in front of him, drinking in the sight that not everyone had the chance to see.

The door to the cockpit opened up, revealing the tall and large frame of Corporal Vega, the leader of Zodiac-1.

"Progress?" He asked, his voice gargled up by the speakers from his environment suit, which was a must considering the deadly environment they were asked to operate in.

Bryce turned on the holoprojector beside him, tapping at his keyboard. A second later, a 3d map of their target location appeared, an x marking the current position of their dropship flicking into existence a good distance on top of the target.

"We're…three, make that five minutes out Corporal. We're starting to get static on the comms, so if you want to make a phone home to the Transcendent, now would be the time." Bryce reported, flicking another switch to release some pressure that had built up within the left wing of the Pelican.

"No need. Keep the scanners on for any seismic activity that might spring up, will you?" Vega asked, tapping Bryce on the soldier, and if the man had to guess, the Corporal was smiling stupidly inside his helmet.

Bryce and Vega had grown up together, both being Earth-born, and had enlisted together when they became of age, both eager to earn glory against the Covenant. Where the other went to the Marines, and the other to the Naval Air Wing, both couldn't imagine that they'd end up working with each other many years on down the line.

Both of course, were bitter that they were in a research flotilla in what were essentially guard duties.

And both hated it.

"Standard operating procedure Corporal. Don't get your panties up in a bunch." Bryce said, chuckling as fist bumbed with his old friend. "Didn't know you were aboard the Transcendent." He said.

Vega crossed his arms, his mask hiding the facial expressions he was, unknowingly, displaying.

"Didn't know you were aboard either." He said curtly, before tapping Bryce's shoulder once more. "I'll give you a drink later, I need to brief my men."

Bryce nodded, not bothering to reply as he adjusted the comms system of the dropship, hoping to get a clear line to the Transcendent through the interference from the solar flare.

"You knew Corporal Vega?" Howard asked, disbelievingly.

Bryce chuckled, looking at the man with a humored expression.

"Yeah, we grew up together. That man's harmless as a fly."

Howard shook his head, guiding the dropship into the atmosphere of Thalus, easing the stress on the ship's frame as the exterior panels heated up.

"Harmless?" He said exasperatedly. "Tell that to the Covenant he helped wipe out. Short of the Spartans, he's the next in line on the human superhero list." He announced excitedly. "That man's a legend." Howard said, smiling widely at Bryce.

Bryce laughed out loud, shaking his head as he watched the holographic display of their ship coming closer to the target location.

"What, you want an autograph?" He asked, sweat starting to dance down his face as the heat of the Volcanic activities on Thalus started to make its presence known within the small dropship.

Howard's face took on a look of disgust, waving his hand dismissively as he turned on the A/C.

"No, God no. I was just asking. Now I feel a bit safer having him and his team on my back." He said, gently gliding the dropship nearer to their objective.

"Why's that?" Bryce asked.

"Seven hundred confirmed Covenant kills? Yeah, safer."

 **Bridge of the UNSC Transcendent  
0720**

"Status?" Garland asked, looking up at the hologram of Samuel as it burst into life.

"The extraction team's dropship just made reentry. We've lost track of them, due to the solar flare. Last contact was roughly two minutes ago. Small bursts of incomplete communications are continuously being fed through the comms, what we've pieced together shows that the evacuation of the research outpost is fully underway. No ETA yet on their return." Samuel reported, his orange light disappearing once more as his holographic display shut down.

"Alright, have the docking bay prep to receive for any injuries." Garland said, standing up from his Captain's Chair as he walked towards the front of the bridge, where the ship's two pilots, Lieutenant Susan Cortez and Lieutenant Mibah Dumisani, sat quietly on their seats.

"And get me Doctor Morrow." Garland commanded, crossing his hands behind his back. A stern expression fell on his face, as he looked out into the exterior of the ship, watching sunlight slowly creep into the dark side of Phalus.

A holographic display of a life sized Doctor Morrow burst to life beside him, and Garland could not help but wince at the inquisitive (and slightly angry) look on the Doctor's face.

 _Must have been in the middle of something._ Garland thought, greeting the doctor with a smile nonetheless.

"Doctor." He said.

Morrow for her part crossed her hands in front of her, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, Captain? I was in the middle of preparing the housing for Element Zero when Samuel just came bursting in." she said.

"Sorry," Garland said, a pleading look appearing on his face, "but I need you to send me a complete run down of what we have on this thing once it gets on board. I don't want any surprises."

"Of course." The doctor replied, although a tinge of sarcasm dripped in her sentence, and Garland couldn't help but smile at the courage of the doctor.

"Good, then. Garland out." He said, prompting Samuel to shut off the holographic display of the doctor. "God I hate her." He quietly said, sighing as he went back to his seat.

Samuel appeared next to him, an inquisitive look on his face.

"She's just doing her job, and you hate her?" Samuel inquired.

Garland shook his head at the AI, looking at it challengingly.

"She plays with her toys, Samuel. You want to go fondle her breast then that's fine. I _just_ ordered an entire crew around to keep us in orbit without breaking a sweat. That's work Samuel." Garland declared, quietly enough so that none of the crew could hear.

Samuel shook his head, a small chuckle escaping from him. "I'll never understand you're kind's addiction to a mammary gland that secretes nutritional sustenance, an addiction that warrants it to be on the tail end of bad verbal communications that suggest its use in anything other than feeding," he declared. "Simply ridiculous."

Garland had to chuckle at that one, typing into his terminal as he replied to Samuel, "that was a joke, you know."

Samuel merely shook his head, before his display disappeared, leaving Garland to type his data log to his terminal, describing the current predicament they found themselves in.

 **November-299  
**

"And…we're down. Opening hatch, Zodiac-1 we got ten minutes to get out of here, so get these eggheads packed and ready to go." Bryce said, locking the dropship's landing gear in place. Ash covered the ground in soot, and the heat was too much for even the ships' air-conditioning system to handle.

"Nothing to do now but wait then." Howard declared, lifting his visor to reveal his clear, brown eyes. He pressed several buttons, and the environmental scanner on board the Pelican buzzed to life, beeping quietly as it analyzed the air outside.

"Damn," Howard began, wiping sweat from his face, "I can't get a clear reading out there. Something's messing up with the scanners. It must be over a hundred degrees with this heat."

" _November-299, we have the scientists packed and ready for exfil. Moving to grab the container now."_

" _Alright Zodiac-1, we're bringing the container down in…3…2…1…down!"_

Bryce flicked the switch to release the magnetic clamps off, and all they got for confirmation that the container was down was the soft thump it made when it hit the ground.

" _Got it, thanks."_

 **Bridge of the UNSC Transcendent**

"Captain Garland?"

Garland looked up from terminal, taking sight of the young Lieutenant in front of him. _Ditko_ as his name tag suggested gave a curt nod to him as Garland motioned for him to come forward, a datapad in his hands.

"Lieutenant." Garland said in greeting, taking the offered datapad from the young man.

"Sir," he replied, "something just triggered an alarm from the firewalls Samuel built. I don't know what it is, but it entered our systems two minutes ago." He said, the urgency in his voice evident by the way he looked at Garland with a serious expression on his face.

"What? Why haven't you informed me of this earlier." Garland demanded; worry starting to rise up within him.

Ditko shook his head in response, pointing at the datapad in the Captain's hands. "The alarm just got triggered a moment ago Captain, and I came to you as soon as I took notice of it."

Samuel's holographic display came to life, and Garland took notice of the disturbed expression the AI was displaying. It took a lot to disturb an AI, and for Samuel to display such an expression so freely, meant trouble.

"I'm sorry Captain, I wasn't able to take notice of this alarm sooner. Something seems to be locking me out of system alerts." He said quickly, moving his hands to massage his temples as he stared wide eyed at nothing in particular.

"Damn it. Is it in any essential systems?" Garland growled, standing up from his seat. "Go back to your station Lieutenant, thank you." He said, prompting Ditko to walk away.

Samuel's face scrunched up in concentration, before shaking his head quickly. "Not that I could tell with 100% certainty Captain. It appears to be a virus, but I do not have any idea where it came fro- agh!"

The Smart AI's scream echoed in the bridge, and everyone turned to look at Samuel's holographic form go down to its knees, clutching his head.

"Samuel?" Garland asked, leaning down to the shipboard AI's holographic housing, where Samuel's AI chip was stored.

Samuel grunted in pain, his orange hologram flashing red at times as he went back up to his feet, stumbling like a drunken man as echoes of pain emanated from him.

"It's…trying to…agh! MY PROCESSOR! Take my…chip…out…CAPTAIN!"

Garland immediately took the AI's chip out, regulations be damned, as the klaxons on the bridge suddenly burst to life, alarming the crew.

"Captain!" Lieutenant Ditko once again said, eyes wide open as he stared at the monitors of the weapons station. "We have unauthorized access on weapons systems! Archer Pods A-1 to Z-10 are heating up! Sir," he looked up to the Captain with scared eyes. "Shiva missiles are heating up."

Garland was shocked into silence, as the crewmen surrounding him all panicked as they ran from terminal to terminal. The ship began moving forward, into the gravity well of Xandaria as Samuel's control of the system suddenly dropped. The Captain looked at the AI Chip, it's orange glow pulsating. Whatever was in the system, it appeared to be able to overpower Samuel.

He could not risk losing the AI.

With a fire in his eyes, Garland looked up, walking forward as he stared at the crewmen before him.

"BATTLE STATIONS! GET A FLEET WIDE EMERGENCY BROADCAST GOING! WE'RE UNDER CYBERNETIC ATTACK BY AN UNKNOWN ENEMY! MOVE THE FLOTILLA AWAY FROM THE TRANSCENDENT!"

"Captain! Communication Systems are down!" A crewman declared.

"Damn it!" Garland uttered, "What about back channels? Emergency frequencies?"

"Trying to get a message out now sir!"

"Captain! We got a comms line to the extraction team. They're loading the package in now."

Garland growled, pacing as a migraine began making itself well known in his head. "Good. Order them to get back now, package or no package. I want them back to the ship!"

"Aye aye Captain!" the crewman replied back.

"CAPTAIN! MISSILE LAUNCH FROM THE FLEET! WE HAVE MISSILE LAUNCH FROM THE FLEET!"

"AT WHAT TARGET?" Garland demanded, his eyes wide as he awaited Lieutenant Ditko's answer.

Something he regretted asking.

"XANDARIA!"

 **November-299**

Bryce pushed on the accelerator, pushing the dropship into high speeds as they raced back to the Transcendent, thrusters whirring in strain as they pushed past the safety limits of the tiny craft.

"ETA to the Transcendent, two minutes." Howard declared, the beads of sweat now openly falling down his face.

"God damn it I can't get the Transcendent on the line! Comms are knocked out." Bryce said, frustration on his face as he watched on one of the many panels on his dashboard the various systems on the Transcendent going down.

And the weapons systems powering up.

An alarm suddenly came to life, and both Bryce and Howard watched in fear as the entire _Research Flotilla_ fired their weapons, hundreds of thousands of missiles leaving their housings as they lanced towards the Transcendent.

"What the hell?" Bryce reacted, watching the collection of missiles hurtle towards the lone UNSC ship above Phalus. "Are they targeting the Transcendent?" He asked.

"Negative!" Howard exclaimed, the dropship nearing one of the many Docking Bays of the Transcendent. "The missiles are going to overshoot it! They're targeting Xandaria!"

 **Bridge of the Transcendent**

"MOVE US OUT OF XANDARIA'S GRAVITY WELL!"

"I'm trying sir! Whatever's in the system is locking me out!" Lieutenant Cortez replied, and as if to punctuate her remark, the sound of stressed metal echoed all around them as the Transcendent attempted to do a complete 180 degree turn to try and face the Flotilla, not an easy task with a ship as big as the retrofitted Colony ship that the Transcendent was. "I've got it!" She declared, klaxons blaring as a warning to the crew.

The ship's frame wasn't handling the stress put on it properly.

"Captain! I've got the extraction team on our sensors, but I can't establish contact." A lieutenant to Garland's left said, his face drenched in sweat.

"Open bay doors and keep them open until their inside!" Garland replied. "Cortez! Dumisani! Have you got control of the ship!"

"Aye aye Captain!" Dumisani replied, his jumpsuit drenched in his sweat. "Engineering's completely isolated their system. Engines are ours! Putting them at full go!"

"Get us out of here Dumisani!" Garland said, his knuckles white as he gripped on the railings to keep himself upright as the ship jolted forward, exactly the same time as a Lieutenant informed him that the extraction team had arrived.

The Transcendent, all two and a half kilometers of it, turned far too quickly than it was designed to do, nearly shearing the ship in half as it maneuvered itself to face the flotilla. Fires and immediate depressurization within some of its sections could be seen from the outside of the ship, the lights illuminating the ship's name on its side quickly dying out as system failures continued to rack the ship.

It's 'quadruplets' of D77 Fusion Engines blared into life as it pushed the Transcendent forward, trying to escape Xandaria's gravity well before the thousands of missiles launched by the flotilla reached the gas giant. The movement was slow, as the gravity well dragged the ship down as if it weighed more than it actually did.

But escape the gravity well it did, as the Transcendent, black and gray from the explosions, sped away with all its might from the gas giant, just as the thousands of missiles impacted with Xandaria.

The explosion turned the giant momentarily into a sun, the heat and brightness of which nearly blinding the many crewmen and Captains who watched the gas giant explode. Sun screens had to be drawn down (though it helped very little) as Xandaria exploded outwards, and everyone in the Flotilla figured this to be their death. The unknown cybernetic attack prevented emergency Slipspace Jumps, and for many, they could only watch in defeat as the newly born sun grew outwards, first consuming its own ring, before quickly catching up the planet Phalus.

"Emergency Slipspace jump now!" Garland demanded, the Transcendent rocking and shaking as the panels at the aft portion of the ship started to heat up, Xandaria's newly created- and expanding- molten surface quickly catching up to it.

"Slipspace drive systems are down Captain! We can't jump!" Lieutenant Cortez declared, piloting the ship faster forward in an attempt to escape Xandaria's outward growth.

"Reset the systems damn it!" Garland growled, holding on to the railing for dear life.

"Captain, Xandaria's expansion just passed the second planet in the system. Next one up is Phalus. We need to escape now, sir!" Ditko said, wide eyed as he was as he tried gripped onto his station railings.

"Sir! The entire Flotilla's engines and Slipspace drives are down!"

 _What? What the fuck's happening?_ Garland thought to himself, unable to muster up a thought as he watched the flotilla's silhouettes become larger and larger as the Transcendent neared them.

Xandaria's outward growth had now come upon Phalus, and in a single second consumed the volcanic planet.

And then it happened.

Everyone from the Flotilla, to the crewmen on board the Transcendent, watched as Xandaria consumed Phalus in flames, the planet disappearing within the newly born sun. The 'substance' the scientists had found, locked deep within the crust of the planet, interacted with the indomitable heat of Xandaria. Where the planet Phalus had entered the boiling hot surface of the gas giant, an electric blue pulse suddenly came to life. It pulsed three times before Xandaria's outwards growth came to a halt.

The new sun, as rapidly as it expanded, contracted on itself, its light still shining bright as it became a highly condensed blue ball of light…all before exploding outwards once more. The expansion of the electric blue pulse of light was far faster than the earlier explosion, catching the Transcendent, and the Flotilla, within it.

And just like that, where the Heimdall System had once been, now lay an empty space.


	2. Philon Hawke

**The Lucky 38  
March 7, 2282  
2122 Hours**

If coffee had tasted like this in the past, Philon figured that old timers had horrible taste. He had no idea why this swirling black mass of liquid, with a bitter and burnt out taste, seemed to have everyone in the old world hooked on it. Maybe it tasted better back then? Who knows? As it was in the modern world, coffee just didn't seem like something which appealed to the masses.

The liquid did its job though; he had to give it that. Woke him up during the mornings, kept him up in the evenings.

Evenings like tonight.

His trusty Sniper Rifle, peeled off the back of a dead Legionnaire in Nipton, was set up beside him; mounted on top of an oak wood coffee table that could've been as old as the deceased Mr. House. The empty shell casings of the .308s he had just used up from shooting dummy targets he had set up on top of the Tops Hotel remained scattered on the floor, despite numerous offers from the Securitons in the Penthouse to clean the place up for him.

He liked the mess just as it was.

The waiting was killing him. He was sleep deprived as it was taking care of the newly-made Independent New Vegas, and these drug rings trying to make a living on the Strip weren't helping his already shattered sleeping pattern. For all the upgraded Securitrons could do, investigating and following up on leads wasn't one of them.

So when news of some hotshot named Wilkins came to the Strip looking to strike it big by selling drugs to the people looking to get high (but couldn't, since he just banned the buying and selling of drugs on all of New Vegas), the job to investigate was left up to Philon. The Hotel owners on the Strip, having a vested interest in the drugs trade, of course resisted at first…before he had them all, henchmen included, arrested. Most of them ended up dying of course, but it was all within the rights of the newly christened New Vegas Security Force. Of course, membership almost only included the Securitrons, since no one save a few brave souls wanted to patrol the wastes in a mission to off bandits, raiders, feral ghouls and other deadly animals out there.

Looking back on it all, life for Philon Hawke, quintessentially known to many as the Courier, had been a ridiculous journey from a dead man walking in Goodsprings to a bonafied leader of the Independent State of New Vegas.

He didn't set out for this of course; at least he didn't mean to end up doing it. A simple delivery job to get some unsuspecting Platinum Chip to the Lucky 38 ended up with him nearly getting buried alive by Benny in Goodsprings. Doc Mitchell's patch up job soon got him back to his feet, and eventually, on a quest to get Benny back.

Being an NCR native, where things were pretty peaceful, Philon during his time in the wastes grew quite attached to the plight of most of the people in New Vegas. Food and supplies were extremely scarce for some, crimes tended to occur more often than not (sometimes they were punished, sometimes they weren't), but all things pointed to one fact:

The people of New Vegas were suffering, and this war between the NCR and the Legion over the land wasn't helping anybody. These people only wanted to be free; they wanted to live their lives out in peace. Not under some corrupt government led by the interests of oligarchs, or the direction of a misogynistic fascist who fancies crucifixion as a form of 'punishment' for people he deems guilty.

No, what these people wanted and deserved was a right to determine their own fate, and when Yes Man approached him with the suggestion of an Independent New Vegas, the gears in his above average mind started turning; forming a plan to solidify New Vegas' position in the new world.

And so he plotted. The plan had to be perfect, its execution more so. Killing Mr. House was one of the most painful things he had done; the man had wanted what was best for humanity, but even he fails to realize that he himself proved to be a hindrance to true peace and development for New Vegas.

Out of all of his enemies, House was the one that had goals that closely resembled his.

And yet, he was in the way.

The man's ego, far greater than any he had ever encountered, would never allow for the 200 year old mummy to relinquish his control over New Vegas, even if he had built a strong nation over it. People would revolt, and in time whatever House built would be brought back down to ashes once more. That was not the way.

While he agreed with House's goals of setting up an independent New Vegas and having its people organize the small territory they had into a State, he could not agree with the possibilities of such a State's demise with how House would run things (and run things nearly forever he would, considering that he was basically a computer anyway).

So, he ended his life. Shooting the man's corpse between the eyes to make his death quick, not wanting the man to suffer.

From then on out, his personal mission of liberating New Vegas was nothing if not smooth. He had upgraded the Securitrons, gathered a small army from a hesitant Boone to the unassuming Veronica, turning them into capable foot soldiers and de facto officers in the little army that New Vegas had.

He burnt both crippled armies from the NCR and Caesar's Legion, and he had no doubts that they would come back. Soon too, judging by how quickly both groups could muster up an army.

As he lined up the shot, watching as a man dressed from head to toe in what he could only assume were expensive clothing, he had to admit even if it was just to his self, that New Vegas would need help soon. The sorry excuse it had for an army wouldn't defend anything, much less attack.

For now, the borders of New Vegas were secure. The Securitrons were doing their job, and the recent influx of real humans into the army he was building, however small that influx may have been, was helping ease off the pressure on the demand for Securitron support in some areas.

The brief cloud of doubt entered his mind, and he had to think not for the first time, if his decision was for the best. As the hammer of his sniper slammed forward, and burst of air and fire emerged from the tip of his gun ejecting the .308 bullet into the night air, did Philon steel his heart and nerves. The bullet travelled fast, and soon afterwards passed right through his target, spilling the contents of his head unto the pavement below him.

He had to be strong; New Vegas had to be strong.

But without help, New Vegas would fall.


	3. Dying is Another Word For Teleportation

**A few minutes later…**

"Well, I dunno bout' you, but this feller right here's dead."

Philon outright ignored him, turning the body of Wilkins over. The clanking of what he could only assume to be caps within the dead man's pockets were heard loud and clear, especially by those who wanted to loot. Six months had passed since becoming an independent country, and it seemed like the threat of Securitrons arresting anyone who might get the funny idea of stripping dead bodies clean wasn't enough to keep looters at bay.

"I can see that, Wells." Philon finally replied, emptying the man's pockets. "70 Caps and a single .50 Caliber bullet. Bullet a memento maybe? Couldn't have fit in his .357 even if he shined it up sideways and shoved it up his candy ass." He said, holding out his hand for Wells to see.

The aged man took one look at Philon's hands, shaking his head slightly before spitting at the sidewalk in disgust. "That all there is on him, son? Don't much like standing around 'ere with all these fellers around us." He said, looking at the people walking right past them who looked right back with inquisitive eyes.

Philon opened the man's jacket, driving his hands right into the breast pocket, rummaging through its contents. "Why's that Wells? Most of the gangs who run the hotels here are in jail. Or dead." He said, smiling up at the man as he brought his hand up, a small vial in his hands. "Now this, is what I was looking for."

Wells nodded to the vial, taking off his Cowboy styled hat, allowing his greying hair to freely fall to his shoulders. "For the record pal, I voted to replace them cowboys, not lock the fellers up." He said, taking the toothpick he had been chewing between his teeth out, flicking it away before looking back at the vial in Philon's hand. "Now what's that?" he asked.

Philon stood up in response, the vial still in his hands, motioning for the Securitron to take Wilkins' body away. "This," he threw the vial to the old man, who caught it quickly it response, "is a puzzle."

The two men had passed into the Lucky 38, the casino of which was operating in full swing. Philon had opted to open the casino up to generate more income for New Vegas, money he used to train, arm, and feed the small army- 126 people in all- that New Vegas was building. Thankfully, they didn't have an energy problem, considering that Hoover Dam and Helios One gave them all the power they needed.

"What's so special about it?" Wells asked, bringing Philon out from his thoughts.

The Courier pressed the up button, staring Wells in the eyes. "That vial right there," he began, "contains a new drug. One of our soldiers under Major Boone-" the elevator dinged open, prompting the two men to step inside. Philon quickly pressed the button to the penthouse, "you remember him?" he asked, and upon Wells nod, continued, "died from overdose. I sent that entire Company back to McCarran to re-train, get some discipline in the ranks."

As the elevator opened once more, the two men stepped off, greeting the Securitron that welcomed them both into the Penthouse.

Taking a seat in one of the many couches scattered around the room, Wells watched as Philon grabbed a folder in one of the metallic cabinets that adorned the wall. No doubt, the penthouse must have been a thing of beauty once, something anyone would be proud of. But here the 'Courier' was, bastardizing the decorations by stacking them up into the far corner of the room, instead placing computer terminals, desks and cabinets wherever he could.

A workaholic is what Philon was.

The man in question dropped the folder in front of Wells, motioning for him to read it as he snatched the vial of mystery drug from him.

"I sent a Rogue to investigate. I would've gone myself, but the bastard gangs tried to do a coup here on the Strip. We both know how that ended." Philon said with a laugh, taking off the trench coat he had stolen from an NCR Ranger during his quest to get revenge on Benny. The simple black jeans, combat boots and leather armor really didn't make him look like anything special; a trait that often helped him out of sticky situations.

Wells looked up from the file he was reading, casting a curious glance at Philon.

"Much more potent and powerful than Jet and Psycho combined?" he asked.

Philon nodded, taking a seat opposite of the old man.

"Yeah, flammable too."

Wells chuckled, dropping the folder down onto the table in front of them.

"What? Are the sellers gunna burn the lungs out of the fellers they're selling to?" he asked, taking his flask out from his pocket.

"The Rogue managed to find out that the drug's locally made. Some guy named Feron's running the op, and he tried getting his boy Wilkins into the Strip to sell. Thankfully, the drug's not famous yet, and the Rogue managed to track down the lab where they're making this stuff." Philon said, putting the vial down onto the table. "That was supposed to be a sampler. Wilkins was meeting someone at the Gamorrah, probably to broker a deal or something. You know what the Omertas are like, right? Their boss is in jail, nearly the whole ops is in disarray, and like cockroaches they work on. They're still selling their drugs, I just don't know how. I want to capture their ring leader and put someone more favorable in charge, but I also want this lab gone." He said with finality, standing up from his seat before inputting several commands into the largest computer terminal Wells had ever seen.

"Yes Man, bring up a map of New Vegas will you."

As if on cue, a top down map of New Vegas appeared onscreen; where several locations in the wastes were marked down.

The Courier looked up to the map, pointing to a location just past the Quarry Junction.

"The lab," Philon began, "is there. I'll be personally going to oversee that we destroy that lab with a couple more Rogues behind me. You," he looked at Wells with a smile, "being the only other Rogue for miles around, have the privilege of pretending to be Mr. Wilkins. Find out who the Omerta's new head honcho is, and that's it."

"That's it?" Wells asked, his head snapping back in surprise.

Philon nodded, chuckling as he took a seat opposite of Wells once more. "That's it. Wouldn't do for you to kill him without me replacing him quick enough. I need this done within the next three days. " He said, looking at Wells inquisitively.

The old man nodded, before looking down and clasping his hands together. Silence fell upon them as Philon continued his observation of the map currently displayed on the large screen, with Wells clasping and unclasping his hands together. His head was bowed, with his famed cowboy hat placed on the table in front of them.

"Look, Philon," Wells began, "Are you alright?"

The man in question turned his head to look at the old man in front of him, his blue eyes piercing into Wells' own.

"I am." Philon replied cautiously, "I've never felt better."

Wells nodded, standing up with his hat in his hand. "Just checking. It's just that, with everything's that happened, and is going on, Cassidy asked me to check up on you while she helped Boone set up the routes for the trading Caravans."

Philon nodded in understanding, leaning back into his seat. "Well you can tell her that I'm just fine."

"Philon," Wells started once more, "I know you think you're doing the right thing," he said, looking into Philon's own eyes, "but you and I both know that we need to set up shop, permanently. And I mean courts, trials, and upholding law and order round' here."

Philon agreed, and buried his face into his hands. "I know, I know." He said, looking back at Wells, "I just…need to take care of these thugs first before I can concentrate on building New Vegas up."

Wells nodded, putting his hat back on. "Good, cause people are starting to complain bout' having no support from you. Finish this business up with the gangs, then help out with the people, alright?"

With that, the man walked out, leaving a contemplative Philon behind.

 **UNSC CV-102 Transcendent  
**

The red emergency light was all Captain Garland could see as his eyes fluttered open. His ears were still ringing, the sounds of the ship's klaxons blaring barely registering in his mind as he stood up, crimson liquid leaking down the left side of his haggard face.

From a distance, he could hear the faint moans of pain, the addled cries of help as he tried to regain his bearings, Samuel's AI chip still firmly clasped in his hands.

"L-Lieutenant Ditko!" he cried out, struggling to get up to his feet. The guard railings he had held on to earlier was bent right down the middle, offering him no amount of support as he stood shakily, using the red emergency lighting to seek out the bodies (hopefully not dead) of his crew. Some were haphazardly thrown over their station terminals, others were scattered on the floor, unmoving. Tubes and wires had fallen from the ceiling, the metallic panels holding them together having collapsed to the floor, with some lying on top of fallen crewmen. The lack of a response from the crewman he had addressed worried the Captain, who had moved on to check the body of the nearest crewman he could find.

 _O-1 Dimah, James_ as his tag read out. The youngest of his bridge crew, Garland took note, pushing two fingers into his neck to check for a pulse.

The barely noticeable thumps coming from the man's neck proved little consolation to the Captain, as the other 13 from his crew had yet to be checked upon.

"C-Captain!"

Garland's head turned quickly to the shout, jumping to his feet as he ran forward, limping as a painful wound made its existence known to him.

The crewman's entire body was stuck under a fallen ceiling panel, but his exposed head allowed Garland to properly identify him, eliciting a sigh of relief from the Captain.

"Ditko, thank God!" he said, giving a mighty heave as he pulled off the panel on top of the Lieutenant, allowing him to crawl out from the debris that had collapsed on top of him.

The lieutenants sandy blonde hair, cropped short into a military styled haircut was matted out with his crimson blood, a sign of a serious head wound much like the one Garland himself was exhibiting. The grey jumpsuit that he wore had tinges of red all over it, with some being on the young lieutenant's hands.

"Are you alright?" Garland asked, leaning on a destroyed terminal.

Ditko, erecting himself into a seated position, breathed heavily as he wiped blood off of his face.

"Yeah…this, this blood isn't mind Captain." He said, his eyes falling to a figure just under the terminal the Captain had leaned on.

The shoulder length blonde hair of a fellow crewman he had been friendly with was unmistakable; the pool of blood quickly spreading under her telling both the Captain, who had moved around the terminal to take a look at her, and the lieutenant that the crewman…was dead.

 _De Maria,_ Ditko thought her name was, struggling to his feet as Captain Garland turned her body over.

A pipe had torn through her chest, dousing the entirety of her grey jumpsuit in blood.

"God damned it." Garland said, collapsing into a sitting position as his breathing turned ragged. "Listen," he said, throwing Samuel's data chip to Ditko, "My leg, I can't move it. I broke something." He continued, hissing as he adjusted his sitting position. "Plug Samuel back in, get some power back on…get medics up here to help out, immediately lieutenant."

Ditko got up, moaning a silent 'yes sir!' as a throbbing pain shot up his thigh. He pushed past the fallen cables and wires, the likeness of his current situation to some horror movie he had watched long ago barely registering at the back of his mind. The AI terminal thankfully, was in perfect condition. He wiped off the circuits and wires, as well as small metallic chips that had landed on top of the terminal from what was (presumptively) an explosion from one of the vents in the ceiling.

Plugging Samuel into the terminal did not have the sudden effect that he was hoping for, as a pilot light on the terminal lit up, blinking slowly for three times before the holoprojectors came to life, bringing Samuel's chosen holographic representation to life.

The orange 17th Century Naval Officer outfit pushed Ditko into sighing in relief, happiness washing over him as Samuel's form appeared surprised, looking at his hands before patting his body, as if he was a man checking if he was still alive.

"Thank God! Lieutenant Ditko!" Samuel exclaimed, "The shipboard sensors are offline. Scanning,"

Samuel's holographic form suddenly went wide eyed, turning around quickly, his hand flying to his chest as he clutched his clothing.

"Good Lord!"

Ditko stood up to his full height, which was a struggle as pain shot up his leg.

"Samuel," he said, watching the AI turn to face him, "sitrep on the ship?"

Samuel's eyebrows knit together in concentration, before his eyes turned to look directly at Ditko, replying, "We're currently running on emergency power. I'm rebooting what systems I can, although without a doubt that the cyber-attack rendered most of our systems offline, with special focus on our weapons systems and communications."

"Good, turn the power back on and get our sensors and communications arrays online. Get a med team up here quick." Ditko said, moving over to a nearby unconscious body, unearthing the crewman- Andrews, someone he spent most of his lunchtimes with-from beneath the fallen ceiling panels.

"Rebooting Fusion Core," Samuel began, his hologram disappearing, leaving the bridge in the red light of the emergency lighting momentarily, before the familiar hum of the ship's Fusion Core and Engines roared to life. Bright white lights lit the bridge, revealing the gory scene of the bridge in its full glory.

At least eight out of the 17 crewmen on the bridge were certainly dead, pools of blood forming beneath their bodies.

Ditko dragged Andrews' body into a clear area, running back towards Captain Garland afterward.

"Medical units are on their way. My sensors are back online, Captain Garland, are you alright?" Samuel asked.

Garland, helped to his feet by Ditko, grunted in pain as Ditko led him to sit on the Captain's Chair, before the young officer moved on to help his fellow crewmen.

"I've been better Samuel." Garland said, hissing in pain as he adjusted himself on his seat. "Where the hell is Chen?"

"I've been scanning the entire ship since bringing the systems online, Captain. XO Chen appears to have boarded an escape pod just as our cyber-attack suites were engaged."

"What?" Garland asked, the pain he was feeling momentarily forgotten as he leaned forward, closer towards Samuel's holographic image.

Samuel took a deep breathe, closing his eyes as he replied cautiously, "I'm trying to trace the virus back to its origins, Captain. It would seem that it was specifically tailored to my coding. So that's how the bint managed to overwhelm me so quickly." The AI said indignantly.

"Sir! Navigator Reyes is dead, so is Lieutenant Jenkins. Lieutenant Cortez and Dumisani are both badly injured." Ditko screamed out, moving to another spot to inspect other bodies.

"Wait wait wait…back up…XO Chen just boarded an escape pod before this shit happened? Why?" Garland asked, unable to wrap his head around the idea. "Do you think she had something to do with this?" he asked, leaning back on his chair.

"Sir, the medical units are here," Samuel said, just as a platoon's worth of medics entered the bridge in a rush, running over the injured crewmen. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the team suffered casualties as well, with some sporting bruises and cuts all over their bodies, drenching their uniforms in blood.

The Captain waved one away, barking orders to 'concentrate on the crewmen' as he wheeled around to look at Samuel.

"Samuel, was XO Chen involved?" Garland asked forcibly, his temper rising.

Samuel stood silently for a moment, before quickly nodding. "I've traced the virus to its origin. It seems that XO Chen uploaded the virus through a backdoor by loading an email he had into his terminal here on the bridge."

Garland nodded, almost turning his back to Samuel before he wheeled around once more, staring wide eyed at the AI.

"What happened to the virus Samuel? I don't want this happening again." He said.

Samuel smiled, taking off his sailor's hat as he blew on the tip of his finger nails. "I've destroyed it as soon as I was plugged back in. It was able to stun me into inaction Captain; you plugging me off of my terminal gave me an ample amount of time to mount a defensive while arming my firewalls with teeth. The virus is dead."

"What about the other ships in the Flotilla? Why'd they fire?" Garland asked, finally relenting to the medic that had approached him.

Most of the crewmen had been taken out of the bridge by this point, leaving Lieutenant Ditko and four others behind. A squadron of Marines had entered the bridge by this point, providing security as it was dictated in emergency protocols.

Samuel clasped his hands behind his back, before animatedly pacing around his terminal, a look of concentration marring his face.

"I'd wager that they were all attacked with a virus that incapacitated their AI's and took over their systems, much like we were Captain. And…unfortunately sir, out of the 16 ships in the research flotilla, my sensors indicate that only seven at this time exist within the vicinity of the Transcendent." Samuel said, a remorseful tone echoing with every word he uttered.

Garland collapsed further into his seat, the medic applying disinfectant to his wounds. Nine ships? He had lost nine ships in a non-combat assignment.

"I've detected fragments and debris that matches the nine unaccounted ships, Captain." Samuel reported, his head cast down.

Garland pinched the bridge of his nose, the slight ringing in his ear returning.

"Three destoyers…the _Zaibatsu, Javelin, and Titan._ No lifeboats launched. All hands lost."

 _1,600 lives lost._

"One Marathon-Class Cruiser, the _Invincible,_ "

The ringing in his ears grew louder, as his vision started to get fuzzy…

"And five frigates...I- Captain? Medic, he's going into shoc…"

Garland's consciousness fell into a dizzying whirlpool of fuzzy images as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, the inky blackness of blissful unconsciousness taking hold of him.

 **1 hour later…**

"He went into shock, and then lost a lot of blood from his head wound. He should be alright, but he's not getting anytime soon. I'll forward my report to XO Chen imme-"

Ditko shook his head, cutting the good doctor off, "XO Chen's…missing. I'm the acting Captain for now. I don't need your report, just keep me updated on Captain Garland's condition." He commanded, massaging his temple.

The doctor in front of him burrowed his eyebrows together, looking questioningly at Ditko from Captain Garland's side.

"Missing? What?"

Ditko pursed his lips, forming them into a simple white line as he raised a finger to his mouth, making a shh-ing motion.

"Keep this info between you and me for now. This doesn't leave the medbay or the bridge." He said, scratching the back of his head. Most of the blood on his head had been wiped off, the wound that had opened up on his forehead being cleaned up, bandaged and stapled by the medics that had arrived on the bridge shortly after Samuel had brought the power back to life.

"What a mess," Ditko exclaimed, looking at the doctor good naturedly, "do you have any aspirins? My head's killing me."

The doctor shook his head before standing up and tiptoeing to a cabinet just above his normal reach. The bottle of aspirins he had taken out was still full; popping it open, he gave a pill to Ditko before placing the bottle back to the cabinet.

"I hope that helps…Captain." The doctor said, sitting down beside Garland's bed, "and please, do come up with a decision regarding our…missing officer. The crew is getting restless." He said.

Ditko nodded, leaving the packed medbay immediately, careful not to bump into any of the medics that were running around, helping the hundreds of men lying down on their beds with various injuries on their bodies. Bleeding eardrums, cut heads, large bruising and a list of other injuries that, even as an educated man, Ditko had no idea existed.

It was a site to behold, seeing the elevators going up to the different sections of the ship filled with medics all needing to get to wounded crewmen who were asking for help. It was disheartening for him to note that the elevator going to the medbay almost always ended up having less and less passengers, either meaning that the injuries were extremely grave for the medics to move the patients…or their 'patients' were already dead.

He shook his head, silent as he boarded an elevator, the groups of medics that had boarded alongside him all wore gaunt expressions on their faces. They were tired already, and it hadn't even been that long since Samuel had brought the power back online.

The right up to the bridge was constantly delayed with the stoppage on almost every floor; the doors would open, and the screams from outside would echo in. Ditko knew that this would always remain in his head, and try as he might to block the noise out, the screams of many people replayed over and over in his head, even as the elevator doors finally opened to the bridge.

Samuel, in his holographic form, stood in his terminal, overseeing the remaining bridge crew go about their business. Several members from engineering were also there, replacing wires and circuits and repairing the fallen pipes and tubes that had collapsed when the ceiling panels fell.

The AI had turned around, nodding to Ditko.

"Lieutenant Ditko, or should I say Captain Ditko." The AI said, a small smile on his lips as he tried humoring the young man before him, a holographic sword in his hand.

"Not now Samuel." Ditko replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Samuel's face fell, before adopting a more serious look as he addressed the acting Captain before him.

"Orders?" he said.

One of the other bridge that had survived alongside him had walked over – Williams, her name was – snapping off a crisp salute to him.

Ditko saluted back, although on the edge of his mind he knew Ashley was simple teasing him; they had jokingly played 'I'm the Captain of this Ship' during down times after all, and to be in the _actual_ situation now seemed coincidental, if a little funny.

"Lieutenant." He said, a serious look on his face.

Ashley returned the serious look for her part, before handing a datapad to him. "While you were down at the medbay with the Captain, me and Samuel took the liberty to contact Chief Engineer Petrov down in Engineering." She said, as Ditko read from the datapad handed to him.

"Whatever we've found Phalus, when Xandaria nearly went supernova, the substance seemingly pushed Xandaria's explosion inwards, creating a massively condensed material," at this, she grabbed the datapad from Ditko, opening up an image from the incident. "Whatever that substance is, it caused Xandaria to push out a pulse of unknown energy that, to my understanding, knocked all our systems out, which I'm still trying to reboot and repair by the way. Long range communications are out; anything other than in-system attempts at communication are possible."

"What about that sample we brought back?" Ditko asked.

"Doctor Morrow and the ground team are wheeling it into their labs at the moment." Ashley said.

Ditko nodded along, his hand scratching his chin as he thought back to the incident, how the substance, whatever it was they found, wreaked havoc with Xandaria's explosion, causing a funny reaction that he couldn't explain.

"That's not all, Captain." Samuel began, before displaying a live feed from both the Fusion Reactor Core and the Slipspace Drive Chamber. "The pulse that came from Xandaria consumed us and the entire fleet. We haven't been able to raise the other surviving ships on the comms, nor can we navigate ourselves nearer to them at the moment. But just as the pulse hit the Transcendent, the Slipspace engine suddenly activated, along with the other drives in the flotilla. I can't risk keeping the Transcendent in flight for too long, Captain, and if I were able to raise the other AIs on the other ships, I know they would agree with me."

Samuel crossed his arms in front of him, casting his gaze to the exterior of the ship through the windows, looking with an analyzing eye at the group of damaged ships from the flotilla sitting not too far from their current position.

"I cannot risk that we use the Slipspace Drive too without understanding what's happened to it exactly. Long range sensor systems have also been damaged; I can't get a read on the planets nearby without going near them. Our options, Captain, are limited. Short of evacuating the ship, the only option for now is activating our engines."

Ditko groaned in frustration, weighing his options carefully.

"Come on Samuel, tell him where we are already." Ashley suddenly blurted out, staring at Samuel with her arms crossed in front of her.

Samuel looked cross at her, before turning with a serious expression on his face to Ditko. An image of the solar system replaced Samuel's holographic form.

"We appear to have come out of the Slipspace jump in the Sol System, Captain."

Ditko released a the breathe he didn't know he had kept, smiling in relief as he looked at Ashley, then back again to Samuel as he excitedly exclaimed, "Oh what a relief! Contact the UNSC on Earth, or the Jovian Moons then! They'll sort this mess out!"

Ashley shook her head, replying in earnest to Ditko, "That's the problem, we haven't found any UNSC frequencies."

The smile on Ditko's face disappeared quickly, as he stammered back, his brows furrowing together in confusion.

"I'm sorry? I think I misheard you."

Samuel reappeared, a sorrowful look on his face. "I've been scanning the system ever since I was 100% sure that we were in the correct place Captain. There is an 89.2% chance that this _is_ the Sol System Captain. The only things that seem irregular are the alignment and position of a few stars, but other than that, we are where I think we are Captain.

Ditko took a seat on the Captain's Chair, unable to grasp the situation at hand. "What happened to the UNSC then? Did we get attacked?" He asked, his eyes widening as he demanded Samuel to give him the answers.

"Unknown Captain. As I said, the long range sensors have been knocked out. I have no idea if any ships other than our small group are even in the system at all. No one is answering our hails, Captain."

Ditko nodded, taking slow, deliberate breaths as he stood up, his mind made up.

"Then that makes the decision for us then." He said, nodding to his fellow crewmen who had stopped to watch him. "Our two pilots are in the medbay, can you fly the ship Samuel?" he asked.

The AI smiled mockingly at him, his hologram disappearing from his terminal. "What kind of an AI can't fly, Captain?" he replied.

Ditko nodded, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Open ship wide communications then. I think it's time to tell everybody just what's going on."

Ashley nodded, muttering a quick 'Aye aye, Captain' as she walked away to a terminal, typing a few commands onto the keyboard before looking back at him, nodding her head.

Ditko nodded back, clearing his throat.

" _Attention all crew, this is Lieutenant Commander James Ditko, acting Captain of the Transcendent. As you all may know, at 0700 hours earlier today, the research flotilla inexplicably fired all munitions into the Gas Giant Xandaria, causing a massive supernova-like explosion that wiped out the planet Phalus, which some of you may know was a planet that we were studying due to the presence of an unknown substance._

 _I'm not going to lie; the substance seems to have affected Xandaria's explosion and our internal systems, on top of the cybernetic attack we suffered earlier on. Our shipboard AI Samuel is fully functional, although he needs your help getting some systems back online. The substance within Phalus seems to have affected our Slipspace Drive, and during the course of Xandaria's explosion the Slipspace Drive, along with all those on the other ships in the flotilla, activated. By some stroke of luck we have exited into the Sol System. Currently…there are no UNSC Comms signals that we can latch on to contact._

 _Please keep calm, we are going to move forward and have a closer look at Earth. Several of our ships from the flotilla have been destroyed, and we will move in to pick up survivors and see if we can round up the other ships on our journey to Earth. Ditko out."_


	4. Organization

**UNSC CV-102 Transcendent  
Unknown Date [UNABLE TO SYNC TO UNSC NETWORK]  
1420 Hours [TIME IN SYNC WITH SOL SYSTEM]**

"Alright Samuel, just bring us close to them nice and easy." Ditko said, tapping his feet in agitation as he sat on the Captain's Chair, his hands firmly clasped together as he watched the debris field of what was once the research flotilla grow large with every passing second as the Transcendent moved closer to it.

He had decided activate the engines despite Samuel's warnings, and so far things were going smoothly. The D77 Engines, not designed at all for smooth sailings, jerked the ship forward in a shaky, constant motion. Engine readouts and a continuous analysis by Samuel showed the engines to be running unhindered for the moment, bringing the two and a half kilometer hull of the Transcendent closer to the flotilla.

"Still no lifeboats Captain." Samuel reported, whose attention was primarily focused on steering the ship and monitoring its engines.

Ditko nodded, turning his attention to Ashley and the other crewmen.

"Can we get any of the surviving ships on the horn?" he asked.

At the shake of Ashley's head, he looked forward again, the tapping of his feet never faltering.

"Keep trying." He imperiously commanded.

They had entered into the debris field now, pushing past the shattered hulls of the ships lost due to the incident. It looked more like an aftermath of a Covenant attack than a research project gone wrong to be honest. The floating remains of dead crewmen splattered against the Transcendent's hull as it pushed against the wreckage.

"God…" he heard one of the crewmen exclaim.

 _(static)_

"Ashley! Clean that up!"

"I'm trying to. The debris field's blocking my path to a straight comm line."

 _(static)ay d-….ma…._

"Almost got it, hang on!"

" _Mayd…(static)…is th….SC FFG-624 Heavy Duty."_

"Good work!" Ditko exclaimed, standing up the Captain's Chair. "Give me the line!"

"Aye aye! Line secure!" Ashley replied excitedly.

" _Mayday mayday, this is the UNSC FFG-624 Heavy Duty! We've suffered a catastrophic Cybernetic Atta-"_

" _Heavy Duty! Heavy Duty! This is the UNSC CV-102 Transcendent! Come in!"_ Ditko excitedly said, adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream as he awaited the response.

" _Captain Garland? This is Captain Noles! God is it good to hear from you. What the hell happened? Our AI, Nolan, he's dead. Fried processor chip and all. Next thing we know we're firing missiles along with the entire flotilla onto Xandaria."_

" _Captain Noles, this is Lieutenant Commander James Ditko, acting Captain of the Transcendent. Captain Garland suffered injuries during an unexpected Slipspace jump that happened to affect all of us. We're in the Sol System Captain."_

" _Sol?"_ Captain Noles replied, _"Have you made contact with the Home Fleet then? We've been able to talk to the other ships that survived whatever happened, and all ships are reporting non-functioning essential systems. We need help Captain."_

Ditko wasn't sure how to respond, and his inquisitive glances at both Ashley and Samuel for advice were met with shrugs, the universal sign for 'I don't know what to do either, you handle it.'

" _Captain,"_ he began, " _there are no other UNSC communications frequencies out here. Just us and the rest of the surviving ships from the flotilla."_

The silence he got from the other end was unnerving, and as the seconds ticked by, Ditko entertained the thought that Captain Noles on the other suffered a coronary, or a heart attack from the information just to lighten up his own spirits.

" _A-are you sure? Did the Covenant attack?"_

Ditko shook his head, seating himself back down on the Captain's Chair. _"No, we don't know Captain. Our long range sensors aren't functioning. We were hoping that yours or the other ships' sensors were."_

A long silence once more fell on them, as Ditko was left in the uncomfortable position of having to wait for Captain Noles' response.

" _They are…I thought that ours might be damaged but…the sensor sweep we did on the system shows no Fleet in orbit around Earth…at all. Not even any burnt out husks of ships."_

Ditko's face paled at the implications, and the heaviness that started to makes its presence known in his chest wasn't helping. Had the Covenant found Earth? Had they attacked? Why wasn't there any evidence of a battle around here? The Covenant weren't known for leaving empty systems behind when they attacked, and an attack on humanity's home planet would make for a bigger reason to leave a system with the battle scars; as a symbol of the Covenant Military's might.

" _Look…Lieutenant, my ship and two others, the Monaco and the Pyrrhus are the only remaining ships that can still move without tearing itself to pieces. The others are venting atmo. They need help."_

Ditko nodded, looking at Samuel, Ashley, the crewmen…anyone for guidance.

"Relax," Samuel said, a reassuring look on his face. "Calm down. There are men who need our help." He said.

James took a deep breath, looking down at his hands as he nodded.

"All right, all right. _Captain Noles, I'll have Samuel coordinate with the other ships. We'll ferry their men to the Transcendent. You have seniority, as far as I'm concerned sir. I recommend that we leave nothing behind."_

" _Alright, Transcendent. We read you loud and clear. Cole Protocol is in effect."_

The evacuation of the ships took nearly two hours long to complete, ferrying nearly 2000 men and women from the disabled frigates they came from. Most of them being scientists, brought along their equipment and specimens, with the Marines acting as their security detail frowned dispassionately at the audacious behavior that some scientists exhibited.

Most of them meant well; it was just that they often were boastful, a trait which was obviously not received well by their guards.

It turned out that Captain Noles' did indeed have seniority over the flotilla now, as most of the Captains aboard the other ships save for Noles were either dead or injured, their XO's having taken their Captain's places for the meantime.

The entire bridge crew of two of the ships they had to evacuate wound up dead, and the other remaining two had nearly half of theirs cripples or in deep comas.

Noles had proven to be a quick thinking Captain, very much like Garland. As soon as the four ships left the vicinity, the proximity charges within the debris field of the flotilla detonated, vaporizing the hundreds of metallic pieces scattered around, as was dictated in the Cole Protocol.

They had quickly opted to check out the Jovian Moons first, thoroughly surprised to find nothing on them.

They moved on, arriving at Mars within a couple of hours.

And like with the Jovian Moons, they stared disbelievingly at the lack of any technology present on what was supposed to be the most industrialized colony in the human history. In a rush, they moved on to Earth.

The discovery of an irradiated waste land put all of their emotions into haywire. Crewmen born on the once bright blue ball that was humanity's cradle cried out in disbelieving shock, collapsing to their knees as was the case in Lieutenant Williams' situation. Captain Noles, Earthborn himself, simply sat in his command chair, absently focusing his gaze on the floor of his bridge. The acting Captain of the _Monaco_ , who appeared to now be the permanent Captain of the ship after the previous one died in the medbay, burst into open tears as the emotions she had been harboring since the 'incident' spilled over.

Captain Noles had quickly called for a conference between them all aboard the _Transcendent,_ to which everyone had readily agreed to, unsure of how to move forward.

Samuel continuously fed Ditko updates regarding his scans of Earth, who had ordered Lieutenant Williams, who turned out to be the next in line to become an Executive Officer after him, to prepare the conference room of the _Transcendent_ , wishing to give her some time alone as news of an irradiated Earth hit her hard.

"And, I'm not quite sure exactly _what's_ going on around here Captain, but my secondary scans of Earth have brought some frightening details to light." Samuel intoned, whose holographic form had begun wearing a pair of glasses as he read on what appeared to be parchment.

"Like what?" Ditko asked, sitting on the Captain's Chair as he read through a casualty list prepared by the Chief Medical Officer.

Nearly 10,000 dead from the 'Incident', with 2,000 alone coming from the _Transcendent._ In a way, Ditko mused, the _Transcendent_ was lucky to have come out with this much crew left, considering the sort of damage they had. Almost 800 were confirmed to be dead, the other 1,200 being in various states of injury.

"Well, for one, from what limited scans my remaining sensors can provide, the industrial capacity that I can see on the ground doesn't match up with what Earth's supposed to have circa 2540. In fact, several shipyards seem to not exist at all. The Alaskan Rapier Shipyards for instance simply isn't there, although there is some industrial activity there."

Ditko raised an eyebrow up at Samuel, tilting his head to the AI. "So? The Covenant would have targeted any heavy industry we had. Shipyards included."

Samuel shook his head, removing the spectacles he had put on. "And that's the confusing part, sir. The damage as far I can see on the planet seems to have come from the use of nuclear weaponry. There are no signs whatsoever of plasma bombardment on the ground. The nuclear fallout over much of Earth, is not consistent with Covenant glassing procedures we usually see."

 _Interesting._ Ditko thought, thoroughly intrigued. "Hm, the lack of any debris field in space does seem suspect." He said.

Samuel nodded, bringing up a holographic image of Earth and its surrounding airspace.

"Earth in 2545 already had several Orbital Defense Platforms installed around it, with thousands of ships from the Home Fleet in constant orbit. If the Covenant had attacked, a debris field would have enveloped earth, forming ring very much like what Saturn or Neptune has." Samuel said, "To add some mystery into the already complex puzzle we're asked to solve, the nuclear fallout surrounding Earth seems to be _hundreds_ of years old."

The quick snapping of Ditko's head to Samuel would have worried anyone who was watching that the acting Captain would have had whiplash with the speed he had moved his head.

"I'm sorry I might not have heard you right. Did you just say _200_ years old?" he asked, as some of the other bridge crew, whose numbers were augmented by the Engineering staff who had come to replace the other crewmen, turned to Samuel to listen, clear looks of intrigue on their faces.

Samuel nodded, turning to the holographic Earth that was currently displayed, before enlarging it. He highlighted two things at once; several 'scars' or 'craters' currently present on Earth, and then the irradiated areas that covered the once blue planet.

"The nuclear fallout we are witnessing, these heavily irradiated locations specifically, seems to be as old as some of these craters and damages to the infrastructure as far as I can tell."

"Wait wait wait, hold on. Are you telling me, that this," Ditko pointed to Earth, outside of the bridge's windows, "was probably not caused by the Covenant, and you're suggesting this was caused by _us?_ "

Samuel took one look at the Earth, and then at Ditko, before replying with a curt nod. "Yes."

Ditko collapsed back into the Captain's Chair, the crewmen talking amongst themselves about this revelation.

"How? How? I just, I can't seem to wrap my head around this. Did, did we travel forward in time? What?" Ditko asked, unable to think clearly for the moment.

Samuel shook his head, creating a virtual chair in which he sat on. "I have another theory." He said.

Ditko nodded to him, asking for him to continue.

Samuel looked down, a parchment in his hand as he spoke slowly, and clearly. "It would be a foolish thing to say that we completely understand Slipspace Technology. Clearly, the Covenant know much more about it than we do." He said, standing from his chair as he continued on, "What we do know is that simply, Slipspace takes us from Point A, to Point B in less time than it would take us to travel across vast distances. What we don't know, is how Slipspace reacts to a massless object travelling through."

Ditko nodded, getting some of Samuel's logic. "So this substance, when Xandaria gave out that pulse we entered Slipspace _massless?_ " he asked.

Upon Samuel's nod, Ditko continued, "But I don't get it. How can mass affect Slipspace?"

Samuel crossed his hands in front of him, looking at Ditko with a serious expression on his face.

"It shouldn't have, had we had control of the ship. The sudden activation of the Slipspace Drive while we were essentially massless and had no control of the ship sent us exiting from slipstream through an _exit_ we shouldn't have."

"What?" Ditko asked, confusion painted on his face.

Samuel hissed, shaking his head. "Think of a paper. That paper is us, Captain. You try to shoot it at a bull's eye, but it can't hit it. The wind, the air, it's affecting the paper's movement because essentially, it's as light as a feather. Now think of our ship, travelling at ludicrous speeds in Slipspace essentially massless and out of control. We probably moved through the slipstream in a straight line for probably just a second before we ended up tumbling out of it. And do we know what occurs outside the tube of slipstream? Where we ended up in could simply be one of the _many_ possibilities out there."

"So you're saying-"

"What I'm saying, Captain," Samuel said, staring seriously into Ditko's eyes, "is that we might have ended up in an alternate universe altogether with that," he exclaimed, pointing to the grey and yellow ball that was now Earth, "being the product of human nuclear war against each other."

You could hear a pin drop with the silence that fell upon them all. Ditko's emotion filled wide eyes summed up the feelings from the entire bridge crew at that moment; shock.

"Sir, Captain Noles and others have arrived. Lieutenant Williams is currently bringing them to the conference room right now." Samuel said.

Ditko nodded, standing up as he barked orders to the crew. "Samuel, we're going to need to tell them." He said to the AI.

"I agree sir. I'll be waiting for you in the conference room." Samuel replied, his hologram flickering out of existence.

* * *

Samuel and Ditko's announcement had shocked the other captains into silence, with Captain Noles being the most vocal out of them in voicing his disbelief. Captain Garland, who was still recovering from what Doctor Silva described as being a moderate case of blood loss, was allowed by the good doctor to attend the conference between the Captains, questioning Samuel's analysis when he could.

It was Dale, the _Monaco's_ shipboard AI that validated Samuel's analysis, using the _Monaco's_ still functioning sensors and systems to come up with her own analysis on the irradiated Earth.

On the issue of whether or not they were in an _alternate_ dimension however, the collective could not decide on a course of action they should take.

A blurted out suggestion from Ditko who was, for all intents and purposes, still the acting Captain of the _Transcendent,_ settled the debate.

Two Special Forces units, to be provided by the _Transcendent,_ would be sent down to Earth. One would go to Perth, Australia, to find what remained (if it existed at all) of the UNSC HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6 while the other, would be sent to Las Vegas, Nevada, where satellite imaging showed the unmistakable twinkle of lights.

The sudden realization that at least some form of civilization in the barren wasteland that was undoubtedly a surefire reality now seemed to comfort some, although other worries had quickly sprung up; what would the reactions of the locals be? Would it be even possible to engage with them in civil conversations? Or had the constant radiation fields all around the world mutated humans and animals on Earth to the point of being violent beasts?

Captain Noles, a glorified pessimist despite his can-do attitude, wanted to set up shop somewhere in North America. He proposed the establishment of a base, from which they can operate from. What their operations and focus would be, of course, would be based upon the findings of the team to be sent to Australia. If they were indeed in an alternate universe, it was their duty to make sure that they figure out a way back.


	5. The Rebel and the Eagle

**Goodsprings, New Vegas  
March 9, 2282  
2000 Hours**

The long trip to Goodsprings had been surprisingly uneventful. The heat of the sun glaring down at his back was as hot as ever, and not even the Ranger trench coat he had worn for the voyage helped ease the heat.

As luck would have it, a caravan passing through New Vegas just happened to become Philon's best bet to reach Goodsprings, a small town south of the Quarry Junction where the lab for the new drugs were being made. Two Rogues would them there, jumping to the lab soon after to take it down. Judging by how well trained these Rogues were before and after the establishment of the ISNV, they should have little trouble if any destroying the lab, and capturing or killing anyone within. It was a simple search and destroy mission anyway, with the search part having been taken care of already.

It had taken him nearly half a day to reach the town where the beginning of his journey officially began. His arrival was met with much of his old acquaintances coming to properly greet him as he walked into the town.

When much of the fanfare had settled down, and everyone went back into their respective abodes, Philon walked up to the old cemetery where he was nearly buried alive. He remembered the old walks he used to have with ED-E and Veronica, the eyebot constantly on the move as the Brotherhood of Steel outcast tried (with humorous results) to dissect the robot for any information he might have on the Enclave.

As his feet left a trail of cloud in his wake, Philon stood atop the hill, nodding to the two shadowy figures standing beside the entrance to the cemetery.

"Sir." They both greeted, snapping off a quick salute.

Philon gave a salute in return, shaking their hands afterwards.

"We've scouted the area up ahead. It's all clear as far as I can tell."

It had taken them an hour to reach their destination. They had walked silently, the two Rogues – nicknamed Everest and Vulcan – led the way; blindly walking through the darkness for fear that it might cause the people in the lab to run away. The two carried 10mm Pistols, the standard issue gun for both Rogues and the ISNV Soldiers, with a belt filled to the brim with grenades wrapped around their waists.

Philon himself had opted to go light, bringing along a .357 Magnum Revolver which he strapped to his thigh. He didn't expect much resistance, considering that the drug was fairly new.

 _Still,_ he thought, _gotta be careful._

The mouth of the cave was wide, big enough for at least five people to walk in simultaneously. Two guards sat near the entrance, a small fire blazing between them. The smell of cooking Brahmin meat, and the joyful laughter of the two men masked the footsteps of the Philon and his Rogues as they approached the two in the darkness, guns at the ready.

Everest had flanked one, while Philon and Vulcan had circled to the back of the other. Not much planning was made as they knocked the two men out cold silently, throwing their unconscious bodies to the side as they cuffed them with old, rusty handcuffs.

"What's next, boss?" Vulcan asked, kneeling down to extinguish the flames the two guards had set up.

"Everest and I are going in. You stay out here, plant traps in case these guys have friends." Philon said, unsheathing a combat knife from his boot. He smiled up at Vulcan, giving a curt nod to the man.

"Use your bombs if you want to. I doubt everything'll stay silent when we get in. Go as loud as you want."

Vulcan nodded back, a chuckle escaping him, the black ski mask he had on muffling his voice. "You got it boss."

Philon turned his back to him, glancing at Everest with an inquisitive look. "Ready?" he asked. He could hear voices coming from the cave, counting in his head the number of people inside.

Everest simply nodded, the sandy haired stoic man simply cocking his pistol, a determined look on his face.

The two walked in, clinging to the shadows as the sights and smell within the cave increased tenfold. Smoke hampered their vision, and the smell of burnt plastic wafted into their noses. The sound of running water however, seemed out of place, causing Philon to furrow his eyebrows questioningly and his grip on his Magnum tightening.

Everest had walked ahead of him, Philon following him, Magnum still raised as they he took note that the ground they were walking on had changed into metal. It was the guardrails that clued him in to the fact that they were now standing on a poorly lit scaffold, still hidden away from the now visible group of people below.

A group of people lying down on their stomachs, with pools of unmistakable blood around them.

Philon, a confused look on his face, walked past the Rogue who had accompanied him, gun raised at the ready. He walked down from the scaffold, kneeling silently beside a body. He noted with suspicion an opening to the back of the cave, a brick wall barely visible through it. The sound of running water had grown louder, and Philon noted that the sound of voices they had heard earlier was actually coming from a radio, its volume set to the highest possible option.

"What's going on here?" he asked, turning over the body he had knelt next to.

There was a gunshot wound on the man's stomach. He did not die from the shot, but rather bled out.

Philon stood, and walked up to another body. This one had a gunshot wound to the back of the head. ' _Executed?'_ He thought. _'But why?'_

"These people were killed by guns," he declared, standing up. "But I don't see anyone with guns here. I don't see any signs of these people fighting back either. These men were killed by their own."

BANG!

The gunshot was loud, but Philon's attention was taken by the wet slumping of a body down to the ground. He had twirled around, .357 in hand, before a vicious knee to his gut sent him collapsing to the ground, his breath having been knocked out from him. The offending knee then connected with his cheek, blood freely flowing form his mouth as he stumbled head first into the ground.

"A very astute observation, Mr. Hawke." He heard a voice say.

He never raised his head to look, as he stood up to his feet, burying his fist into the face of the man that had kneed him, smiling in satisfaction as the heavily bearded man's head snapped back with the audible sound of a nose breaking.

A hand had latched on to his left arm, and with a surge of energy, he raised the offending pair appendages and the body it was attached to into the air, flipping them down to the ground before giving a quick kick to the man's head, snapping the neck.

Two gunshots ended his tirade, as Philon felt his right shoulder and thigh explode into pain as what he guessed to be 9mm slugs slammed into his flesh in full force.

"Come now Philon, there's no need for violence. We only to talk." The voice once again said.

Philon screamed out in pain, clutching his right shoulder as his vision blurred. He needed a stimpak, if only to ease the pain he was in. He curled into a fetal position, his hand trying to find his magnum blindly.

A foot slammed into his searching hand, and in an instant, a blinding pain shot up his arm.

"Please, let's do away with violence men." The voice said, and Philon heard footsteps come closer to him, panicking as his vision locked on to his arm.

Or, the lack of an arm rather.

Blood spilled into the sandy ground, and Philon could do little but stare in shock at the missing appendage.

"It'll all be over soon Mr. Hawke."

Philon raised his head up to the owner of the voice, being greeted by a tall man with a bald head. A scar extended down from the top of his forehead to the edge of his jawline. He was fairly old, his skin wrinkling as he smiled widely down at Philon.

"Get him up." The man ordered, and the Courier could nothing else but hiss in pain as men grabbed him roughly, aggravating his wounds as they sat him on a seat.

The bald man took a seat directly in front him, motioning to one of the men in the cave to come closer. "Please, give Mr. Hawke here a stimpak. It wouldn't do for him to die right now." He smiled at Philon, and only then did the Courier notice the gray, dead left eye the man had. "We still have need of his services after all."

A stimpak being jabbed into his neck got Philon's blood pumping once more, and he idly took notice as the wound from his missing left arm spilled more blood than what was healthy to the ground.

"Oh, don't mind that. You won't have to worry about it soon!" the man said, an even wider smile gracing his face. "Now, now. Let's talk details. Why I've led you here, how, and what I intend to do with you now."

Philon bit his lip, the pain of his injuries reaching new levels. His remaining hand had bawled up into a fist, as his eyes glared daggers at the man in front of him.

The bald man in question simply taking a drink from a flask he had retrieved from his leather trench coat, his eyes still fixated on Philon.

A few moments silence passed, as the two men simply at each other; the Courier with murderous intent, and the other with a sickeningly pleased smile.

The bald man finally spoke, a happy tone touching his speech. "My my, where are my manners. I've forgotten that you didn't know who I was!" he said, looking around the room as if searching for the approval of the men gathered around him.

Philon had looked around as well, taking note of the finely groomed men dressed raider armor. Too groomed in fact, to be simple Raiders.

"I don't know if you speak French, but ah, _Je suis Battier. Gerard Battier._ " He said. "Fake of course. I'd shake your hand, but…you're missing one." He said with a giggle, simultaneously looking at Philon's missing hand in disgust. The man shook his head, taking a deep breath before smiling once more at Philon.

"Now, you might be confused at the sudden turn of events." He began, clasping his hands together as he looked at Philon with mock seriousness. "You were here to take care of a new drug problem. Ideologically, we might not see eye to eye on certain matters, but even I, and the NCR, have to respect your iron fist when it comes to your little war on drugs."

"So you're NCR." Philon blurted out, the pain obvious in his voice.

The bald man laughed in a high-pitched voice, bouncing in his seat a little as his yellow teeth glinted in the dark.

"No, no…well…?" he asked, settling down as he adjusted the leather jacket he wore. "Yes and no!" he said with a raised finger. "You could say I work for the Legion, but that'd be a lie. I work for no one. I-I-I work for my own cause. Money!" The man licked his lips, his gloved hand diving into his trench coat to fish out a vial of the new drug.

'Battier' licked his lips once more, shaking the little vial in his hands. "You see, the NCR really didn't like it when you kicked them out of New Vegas! They needed the unwilling taxpayers citizens of New Vegas could be, and with you at the helm, they couldn't do that!" he said, his arms raised high as he animatedly talked. "So they hired me!" He exclaimed.

Philon watched as he stood up from his chair, pacing the floor as he continued speaking.

"The drug was the bait." He continued, "pretty proud of it actually. My own concoction." He said with a smile. "Sell them to a couple of hungry beggars and eventually the great Courier takes notice." He turned to stare at Philon with a smile. "Now, I've got you here! Of course, you're only step one in my master plan, and definitely just one of my objectives before I get paid by the Republic dogs!"

Battier walked to the large opening, stepping inside as he tapped the bricks inside.

"These are the tunnels, Mr. Hawke. And they conveniently run straight under Camp McCarran and the New Vegas Jail." He said, stepping out of the tunnels and back into the cave. "I've asked my men to carry barrels of my drug under those locations. Lost a few to some Feral Ghouls, but nothing they ultimately couldn't handle."

Philon's eyes widened, as he gasped out a 'no!'

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Battier exclaimed. "In a few short hours, your little country will return to reality when I release the gangs you've locked up and blow you're army to hell. NCR uses this to justify an invasion, I get paid, you die, and everything goes back to normal." He finished with a smile, thrusting his face closer to that of Philon's.

"Don't worry don't worry." Battier said, "I'm going to make it quick and painless. I'm not your typical villain that wastes time being dramatic. Goodbye Mr. Hawke, it was a pleasure making you kneel to your betters."

The man walked away, stepping over Everest's body as he stepped right back through the opening, walking out of sight. His men followed, save for two that remained behind. They raised their rifles, aiming it up at Philon.

The Courier, shell shocked from the suddenness of the events, could only stare in open confusion at the two men aiming down their sights at him.

Twin gunshots echoed in the cave, silence following soon after.

 **Skies above New Vegas  
2032 Hours**

The small, cramped compartment of a Pelican was the last place Corporal Vega had wanted to be in; his last ride on one not being as pleasant as he wanted to be caused shivers to run down the Corporal's spine as he and his men sat silently.

They had all been briefed on the necessity of their mission; Earth had gone to shit, they were supposedly in another universe, and Las Vegas was the only one who had their lights turned on bright enough to be seen from space. Thus, they were going investigate.

 _Figures that the last place on Earth to be lit up would be sin city._ Vega thought, shaking his head.

" _Corporal Vega, come up to the cockpit. You might want to see this."_

Vega, the burly man that he was, had to squeeze himself into the already tight cockpit of the Pelican, greeting the two pilots in passing.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We're nearing the drop point near that airport we saw on the way in when we picked up some weird heat signatures on our sensors. Take a look." Flight Lieutenant Benning, who had senior command of the Pelican, said. He pointed to one of the screens on his dashboard, and Vega watched as a single heat signature sat quietly on what he supposed was the mouth to a cave.

"What am I looking at here?" he asked.

His question was answered a moment later, as several dozen other heat signatures suddenly walked on screen, with one of them shooting the guy at the mouth of the cave (presumably) dead.

Vega furrowed his eyebrow, confident that the two pilots couldn't his face through his polarized ODST helmet.

"Do we have confirmation that these guys are human?" He asked.

"None at all Corporal." Benning answered, shutting off the screen.

Vega nodded. "Get me a line to command."

"We have connection."

"Command, we picked up what seems to be a group of people shooting a man in front of a cave." He said.

" _Do you have confirmation that they're human?"_ Command replied.

"No."

The other end of the line was quiet for a few moments, before the cackle of the communications line opening up echoed in Vega's helmet.

" _Investigate, but don't endanger your team."_

"Roger." Vega simply said, tapping Benning on the shoulder.

"Set us down near the cave, then stay on station." He ordered, walking back into the compartment.

"Roger. Setting us down." Benning replied.

They descended to the ground quickly, with Benning gunning down the throttle as he settled the Pelican on top of a hill overlooking the entrance to the cave, its engines whirring loudly, creating a cloud of dust that surrounded the Pelican, effectively masking Zodiac-1's deployment.

The group of six created a perimeter around the Pelican, their stances guarded even as Benning piloted the craft up into the air again. Silence fell around the area, not even the usual sounds of creatures broke the soundlessness.

Vega raised a clenched fist into the air, and as one, the entire team cast their gaze on the Corporal. He created a circle with his hand, and pointed straight down to the ground, before opening his fist and pointing two fingers at the cave.

The Marines nodded, and moved as Vega ran quickly down the hill, straight towards the cave with four others behind him. Eriksen, the group's marksman, stayed behind, lying down on his stomach as he set his SRS99C down as well.

The Corporal and the others descended the hill quickly, their group arranged neatly into a pentagon like shape, with the Corporal leading the front.

"Check the downed one." Vega said, as he and three others crouched low on either side of the cave entrance.

Stark, the team's medic, pressed two fingers into the downed man's neck, breathing a sigh of relief as he looked back at the Corporal.

"He's human, and he's alive. He's got a gunshot to his chest, but he'll live. Administering biofoam now." The doctor said.

Vega nodded, turning on his transponder as he spoke directly to Benning.

"Charlie-1-1, you got that?" he asked.

"Loud and clear Corporal. Patching it through to Command." Benning said.

"Roger. We're going to enter the cave." Vega declared, before pointing a finger to the downed man. "Get him to the top of the hill. Whatever shot him is still inside. I want you on station for any injuries."

"Copy." Stark replied, lifting the man over his shoulders as he ran off.

"The rest of you, standard breaching formation. Jet, you go first. Night Vision on people." Vega ordered.

The remaining three members of his team lined up, and as one entered the dark cave with Jet and his shotgun at the front. They had little trouble navigating the cave, the night vision installed on their helmets helping them as they walked slowly but surely deeper into the dark cave. Smoke and the smell of burning rubber wafted into their helmets, prompting Vega to turn on the filters in his helmet on.

He ordered them to stop, looking at Sanchez, the group's tech expert with an inquisitive gaze that the man in question could not see.

"Sanchez, what's up with this smell and smoke?" he asked, on guard as he and the others trained their weapons to the unexplored areas of the cave.

"There's something in the air, I don't know what this is." Sanchez replied, a small datapad in his hand as he raised it into the air. "It's some sort of hallucinogen sir. Pretty weak in this aerosol form. But I've no doubt that as a liquid, it's potent as the Tantum-5 that spread out in the colonies before the Covenant hit."

Vegas nodded. "Everybody, filters on still. Better be safe than sorry. Eyes open." He replied, and the team moved forward once more, with Jet still manning the front.

"I'm hearing voices up ahead." The man said.

Vega nodded, saying "Alright, everybody eyes open and safeties off. Keep going."

The small group moved forward, and the sight that greeted them as they reached the beginning of a scaffold was confusing to the say the least.

A group of what were undeniably human men dressed in what appeared to be scavenged sheets of metal stood around a large room. All of them held rifles of some kind in their hands, and Vega didn't have to be an expert with weapons to realize that most of them were bolt-action rifles that he believed belonged in the history books.

Tables upon tables were lined up with a neat fashion in the room, smoking beakers and other equipment for science lay on top of them, making the room look like a small drug lab. The bodies lying face down on the floor was hard to miss, so much so that Vega and his team knew with utmost certainty that the oddly armed men in the room were to blame for the carnage.

"What the hell?" Jet exclaimed, just as Vega crouched down next to him.

"Sanchez, get some pictures and upload them to command." Vega ordered, his eyes burrowed in concentration as he tried to make out what was being said in the conversation taking place just below them.

"Taking the pictures now." Sanchez said, switching places with Jet as he brought a small camera up, taking images of the scene below.

" _Command, Command, this is Zodiac-1, over."_ Sanchez said, the camera in his hands still raised in the air as he continued to take photographs.

"In a few short hours, your little country will return to reality when I release the gangs you've locked up and blow you're army to hell. NCR uses this to justify an invasion, I get paid, you die, and everything goes back to normal."

The team strained their ears to listen to a bald man in a leather trench coat speaking to a heavily injured man seated on a chair.

"Johnson, record this." Vega ordered, raising his rifle in readiness in case what was about to happen would…happen.

" _Zodiac-1, this is Command. What's the situation?"_

Vega breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the bald man thrust his head closer to the injured man, close enough to know that the injured man had to be able to smell the bald man's breath.

" _We've got a situation here Command. We've found a group of humans. Unknown allegiances. They don't look like Government or army types, though they are armed."_ Sanchez said, reattaching the camera back to his datapad as he tapped on it.

" _I'm sending you some visuals, how copy?"_

" _Copy Zodiac-1. Send them when you're ready."_

" _Standby for transmission."_

Vega glanced at the other members of his team, and he knew that underneath their helmets, most of them harbored looks of confusion on their faces. Even he had one plastered on right now.

"Don't worry don't worry." The bald man said, "I'm going to make it quick and painless. I'm not your typical villain that wastes time being dramatic. Goodbye Mr. Hawke, it was a pleasure making you kneel to your betters."

Vega's eyes widened in alarm, looking at Sanchez, whose depolarized helmet showed wide eyes looking back at him.

" _Command, command, we have a human here about to be executed by other humans. What do we do? Over?"_ Sanchez hurriedly said.

Johnson had raised his marksman's rifle, watching as the group exited through an opening at the far end of the cave and into what appeared to be a tunnel.

" _Command! Orders?"_ Sanchez repeated.

"Sir, the two tangos are about to fire. What is your command?" Johnson asked, his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

A bead of sweat trickled down Vega's face.

" _Command?"_ Sanchez repeated once more, his voice rising as the two men left behind by the group raised their rifles, training them on the injured man.

" _You are cleared to fire, you are cleared to fire!"_

Johnson wasted no time, pulling back the trigger on his rifle. Two quick and simultaneous shots rang out in the small cave, and almost at the same time, two heads exploded in a red mist as two 7.62x51mm NATO rounds slammed into their heads.

The team rapidly moved in, rifles at the ready as they scanned the room for more enemies.

"Johnson, Jet! Secure that hole!" Vega ordered, pointing to the entrance to the tunnel as he jogged forward to the injured man, a canister of biofoam already in his hand.

"Do you understand me?" He asked, trying to make his voice as clear as he could.

"Yes." The man said, the pain in his voice obvious as he nursed his arm. "Who are you?"

Vega took out a canister of biofoam, quickly applying it to the man's wounds, particularly to the cut off limb.

"UNSC. You?" he replied.

"N-never heard of you." The man said in between gasps of pain. "I'm the Courier, Philon Hawke. Look, whoever you are, I really don't care. You helped me out, so I guess that makes you friends of New Vegas."

"New Vegas?" Vega asked with a curious expression on his face.

The man's head cocked back in confusion, before he shook his head as he stood up, the pain in his leg from the gunshot wounds he received momentarily leaving him as walked away from the man.

"Look, the men who did this are going to blow up Camp McCarran. We can't let that happen. We have to warn the army!" the man exclaimed.

Vega raised his arms, vehemently shaking his head sideways.

"You're injured. We don't know who you are, what this New Vegas is or why these men attacked you. But we're not getting involved. We just saved you. We have no idea what's going on here." He said, grabbing the injured man.

The injured man shook his remaining arm free, glaring up bravely at Vega's polarized helmet.

"New Vegas needs to be warned, or else innocents are going to die. Move, or you will be moved." He declared with a fierce look on his face as he fully glared up at the man.

Vega glared right back, depolarizing his helmet to Philon's fascination.

"Look, I don't understand what you're saying." Vega tried explaining, raising his arms up in defeat. "I can't do anything without my superiors giving me the green light."

Philon shook his head, casting a look of fury at the heavily armed men around him.

"Fine! Then I'll do it myself!" He said, limping over to one of the dead bodies of the men who had tried to shoot him.

"Wait!" Vega said, walking to him.

Philon turned around quickly, the rage on his face still there, as he shouted: "LOOK! I'm not going to wait here for your bosses to say yes, because lives are at stake here!"

Vega motioned his hands into a placating manner, nodding towards Sanchez as he spoke to Philon. The thoughts in his head were swirling in confusion; he had no idea what to do with the current situation. All he knew was that he had to calm everyone down, find a solution favorable to both him and his current 'friend.'

"Okay, okay Philon. Calm down." He said. "My teammate here's going to contact our superiors. They say yes, we'll help. If no," he paused, looking at each member of his team. "We'll give you a ride to wherever this place is anyway."

"Places." Philon replied. "Places. They're targeting two places."

Vega nodded, before looking down at Philon's cut off arm. "You're not going to make it very far if you're going to bleed out. You need medical attention."

Philon winced as he took hold of his arm, blood still spilling from it.

"Corporal, Captain Garland's on the line." Sanchez spoke.

Vega nodded, opening a direct channel to the _Transcendent._

" _Corporal, what the hell is going on down there?"_

" _Captain, we saved a man from being executed. He's injured, badly."_ Vega said slowly, _"He's saying that there's going to be an attack on two places tonight. He claims that…an 'army' is in danger, and that innocents will die sir."_

" _Damn it. Can you confirm this?"_

" _Negative, Captain."_

" _Damn it, hold on Corporal."_

A precious few seconds passed, as the tense aura in the air thickened. Philon glared at Vega, and just from the man's stance alone, everyone could tell that the injured man wanted to run out as soon as possible.

" _Corporal, the other Captains have given you the green light. Do whatever asks from you, but find out what you can about the situation, understood?"_

" _Yes Captain. Zodiac-1 out."_

Vega sighed in relief, and immediately barked at his men. "New orders! We're to help this man with whatever he needs to do." he said, before looking at Philon.

"You, on the other hand, are too injured. You'll stay on the Pelican while we do what you want."

"What? NO! I have to talk to my men!" Philon shouted his eyes wide in desperation.

"No. That's final. My medic will tend to you." Vega said, walking forward and up the scaffold as his men assisted the injured man out of the cave, leaving no room for argument from Philon.

" _Charlie 1-1, mission parameters have changed. We're bringing injured friendlies on board, and need transportation to somewhere. Locations to follow once we've boarded, out."_

" _Solid copy Zodiac-1. Putting the bird down."_

"Double time people!" Vega shouted, and the group jogged faster forward, Johnson assisting Philon with Jet and Sanchez guarding their rear.

Eriksen and Stark had met them as they exited the cave, the injured man they had found outside already on board the Pelican, which Philon gazed at with awe as the Marines led him inside.

"Vulcan?" Philon exclaimed, looking at the man's unmoving body.

"You know him?" Stark asked, a datapad in his hands as slow, melodic beeps rang from the device.

"Yeah!" Philon answered, his attention grabbed by the strange device in Stark's hands. "He was one of the Rogues I brought with me to take out that drug lab."

"Rogues?" Vega asked.

Philon stared up with confusion at the man, incredulously releasing a grunt of disbelief as he shared his gaze with everyone else on board the Pelican.

"Where the hell have you been living under for the past year? Rogues? Agents of the ISNV to basically maintain the peace in New Vegas? Uncover plots against the State? Conduct drug busts wherever? Nothing?"

Vega shook his head no, just as Stark began working on Philon's cut off limb.

"We're…new here." Vega said cautiously.

They felt the Pelican lift off, and the view from the opened ramp at the back of the dropship gave them a view of the quickly shrinking view of the dark ground.

"Look," Vega asked, trying to straighten things out. "We can play 20 questions later. Right now we need to know where we're going, and why. Tell us what all this is for."

Philon gasped in pain as Stark applied more biofoam into wounds, sealing the two gunshot wounds he had, and temporarily stopping the bleeding on his injured limb.

The man pointed to Vulcan's body, hissing pain one last time as he grunted out "The Pipboy on his arm. It has a map. Give it to me and I'll show you."

Johnson had taken off the 'Pipboy,' handing it to Philon.

" _Pretty low-tech sir."_ Johnson said through their team's private communications channel.

" _I know."_ Vega curtly replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Philon fumble with the device with his one good arm, pressing a button before pushing it forward to Vega.

"Camp McCarran, the New Vegas Army's HQ," he began, pointing to a location on the map, "has sewage pipes running underneath it. The group that did this to me planted explosives in them. If they explode, the Army goes out. They've done the same thing to the Prison here," he exclaimed, pointing to another area of the map, "and they intend to let the prisoners there loose. Those are some of the worst the Mojave has to offer, and with them out and the Army gone, the NCR can just justify to their own people that New Vegas needs help. The criminals cause chaos, the NCR invades, and that's it for New Vegas."

Sanchez whistled, with Eriksen mumbling a small 'Oh God' as he sat down. "Tall order." Johnson exclaimed, and even Vega had to agree with him.

" _Captain are you getting this?"_ Vega asked, unsure of what to do now.

" _We have…nothing's changed. Your orders are the same."_

Vega looked at the others in his team, and the unsure replies he got from them (which were shrugs, negative shakes of their heads and unsure glances downwards to the floor of the compartment) didn't help in making Vega's mind up about their current situation.

"I don't expect your men," Philon began, taking a look at Vega and his team, "to die for my cause. You're obviously strangers, with a working military and government." He said, looking around him slowly. "If this…plane or whatever it is something you have more of, then whatever this UNSC you're part of is powerful."

Philon looked back at them, a fierce gleam in his eyes.

"But this is my land, my people. And my people need help. I ask for your help. Please."

Vega stared at him, before slowly nodding in acceptance as he ordered Benning to land near the jail.

" _Transcendent, there's a plan in motion to bomb a Camp McCarran and a jail facility. I've transmitted their coordinates. We need help evacuating the camp. I repeat, we need help evacuating the camp."_


	6. For God and Country

**UNSC Transcendent  
March 10, 2282  
0130 Hours**

Nearly a hundred Pelicans lifted off from Camp McCarran, just in the nick of time as the sewers beneath the Military Base exploded. Tents and buildings that the men of the New Vegas Army used to occupy crumbled downwards, a screen of dust and smoke covering what used to be the headquarters of Army. None had died, but many innocent civilians, who had hidden away in their homes from the frightening image of the Pelicans descending down from the sky, got caught in the explosion injuring many.

And killing many more.

Medical teams from the flotilla were quickly sent down, providing aid where they could.

The New Vegas Jail, housing thousands of criminals, gang leaders and drug pushers, was quickly evacuated. The inmates were transferred to the Nellis Air Force Base, the home of the Boomers, who nearly opened fire on the incoming group of Pelicans, dissuaded from doing so upon only by hearing Philon's orders to stand down.

With news of their Army's displacement and the gallant attack on their main headquarters, the NCR had quickly moved forces nearer to the Mojave Outpost. But the failure of the attack on the Jail discouraged further action from New Vegas' neighboring country.

There was silence, for the meantime, as the New Vegas licked their wounds. They were currently housed around the HELIOS One facility, the desert around the area appearing more like an evacuation center as tents were haphazardly set up everywhere.

Anger and resentment filled every soldier's heart, and cries for war were not ignored by Philon. Although knowing the truth, the man had decided not to make it public, for fear of the NCR invading the still incapable New Vegas.

But there was hope, and Philon found it in the UNSC, who had found out about his status as the leader of the ISNV and had immediately brought him up to their ship, which they called the _Transcendent._ Medical personnel gushed over him, cauterizing his wounds, patching him up far quicker than any group of doctors he had ever seen.

There was talk of attaching an artificial arm to him, and although he could not believe it, in the back of his head he knew it was possible with the level of technology he was seeing around him.

This made allying with them the highest of his priorities.

He sat down in a comfortable chair that the crewmen had provided him in what appeared to be conference room of some sort. The image of an Eagle clutching the Earth in its talons was painted in black in the middle of the light brown table, and Philon couldn't help but appreciate the predatory look of the bird.

A loud snap hiss echoed in the room, and Philon stood up as several men entered the room, wearing white uniforms that he idly noted resembled the _Dress Blues_ that the Marines of the old United States used to wear.

"President Hawke, I'm Captain Garland." Philon smiled at him, shaking the hand of man with short, auburn hair.

"This is Captain Noles, Captain Ortiz, Captain Manuel, Captain Helsinki, and Captain Munroe." Garland continued, pointing to each Captain as he said their names.

Philon nodded to them, suddenly feeling inadequate in his old, tattered suit in the face of the finely dressed men.

"Pleasure to meet you all." He said, sitting down as Garland motioned for the others to take their seats. "Although it's not President."

Crewmen walked in, serving them all a fresh glass of water, something Philon noted lacked the usual metallic taste that irradiated water had. He nearly drank all of it, the pleasant, smooth texture of the liquid running down his throat was enjoyable; especially so when he couldn't tell whether the water was irradiated or not.

"Not President? Forgive me but I understand that you're in a position of power in this Independent State of New Vegas." Captain Noles asked, his brows burrowed in confusion. He had clasped his hands together and set them to the table, leaning forward as he patiently awaited Hawke's answer.

Philon nodded his head in agreement, adjusting his seat as he did so. "Yes, yes I am. The ISNV is a fairly new nation. Probably the youngest known state in the region." At the blank looks on their faces, Philon continued.

"Nearly a year ago, there was no ISNV." He began, "It was simply called New Vegas, and it was in the center of a war between Caesar's Legion from the East, and the New California Republic to our West. They were after the Hoover Dam, which would provide untold power and electricity to anyone who controlled it. Naturally, they wanted to take over The Strip, where most of New Vegas' income comes from."

The Captains nodded in understanding, although some with incredulous looks on their faces at the mention of Caesar's Legion.

"Right, I'll spare you the details but most everyone in New Vegas didn't want either of those two being in power. The NCR, for all their talk of freedom and liberty and bringing back the old United States; they're nothing but a group of misled - pardon my language - idiots controlled by Corporations with their own agendas. They overtax people, and they see New Vegas as a potentially tax rich region. So, they want to annex us."

Philon took a drink from his water, the pain from his severed hand starting to pulsate again. He ignored it and pushed on with his story.

"Caesar's Legion – nobody liked them except for rapists, misogynistic individuals and those that get a kick out of killing innocents. Civil Law? Look at the Roman Empire."

Some of the Captains faces fell, unsure looks falling on them as they glanced at each other questioningly.

"They're power hungry and they'll stop at nothing until New Vegas is theirs."

Philon looked down at his hand, unsure of whether he should trust these people with the next bit of information he wanted to share. He took a look at each of the Captains' faces; whoever these people were, they were disciplined. Extremely so by the looks of their ramrod straight bodies as they sat. The weapons, the planes, the ships in space (boy did he need time to wrap his head around that one)…these people were obviously not from around here.

From his firsthand experience with their troops, they were well trained and organized. Something that New Vegas needed.

Making up his mind, he continued.

"I met a robot named Yes Man, and we raised an army from the Securitron Models like him. We defeated Caesar's Legion, and at the Battle of Hoover Dam we sent the NCR retreating out of the Mojave. I got the Securitrons to guard the borders on a 24/7 basis, raised an army from New Vegas volunteers, and created the Rogues to act as a police force and to take care of the drug and crime problems of the country."

The Captains varying looks of respect, contemplation, disbelief and for some, laughter were quite amusing to watch for Philon.

"We technically have a dictatorship for now, something I planned to relinquish with elections once things settled down."

"You must be joking," someone said, Captain Ortiz if Philon remembered right. "You don't honestly expect us to believe all that! What are you? 23?" the Hispanic man said, a wide smile on his face as he laughed.

Philon smiled widely back at him, loosening his tie. "You'd think that with your fancy space technology, your guns, your troops and your out of place organization that you'd be more open minded about these kind of things." He started to Captain Ortiz's dying laughter.

"I'm assuming that the planes and guns I saw when you helped me out is about 1% of your power." Philon said, an arrogant smirk on his face. "You could easily run over any place and country you want, but you're not. I've deduced that you're not from around here. You, talking to me, with the knowledge that you have the upper hand with your strength means that you need something from me. You need my help, as much as I need yours. And you know that, don't you?"

The silence in the room was only broken every once in a while by the quiet hum of the air-conditioning system. The tension was thick, as the Captains turned to look at each other.

Philon, while internally nervous, showed the look of an arrogant young man. He looked at them with confidence, patiently waiting for their reply.

Captain Garland and he locked eyes for a second, before the man raised his hand to silence his fellow Captains.

"You and I both know that honesty's a measure of trust. I've told you my story, now what's yours?" Philon asked.

Garland pursed his lips, his thumb creating small circles on the palm of his hand as he stared at Philon.

Finally, he spoke.

"Samuel."

"Captain is that-"

"Yes, Captain Helsinki."

A burst of orange light in the middle of the conference table had Philon marveling once again for what felt like the hundredth time the last few hours. A man, wearing 17th Century clothing appeared, bowing deeply to the Captains before bowing again to Philon, who sported a look of wonder on his face.

"Hello. I am 0072598-SM, or Samuel if you wish. I am an Artificial Intelligence commissioned on May 13th, 2545."

"What's with the weird accent?" Philon asked, raising an eyebrow up at the AI's holographic image.

"W-what? I beg your pardon?" Samuel asked with an incredulous look on his face.

"It sounds like you're eating your words." Philon replied, scratching the back of his head.

"I-I'm British! I'll have you know that I was mapped from one of the most brilliant scientists in the UNSC!" Samuel vehemently replied.

"Sure." Philon disbelievingly said, "So, 2545 huh?" Philon asked, before looking at the Captains. "You're from the future?"

Garland raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, interlacing the fingers of his hands as he leaned forward.

"What year is it?" he asked.

Philon looked cautiously at him.

"2282."

Garland released a resigned sigh, and the rest of the Captains that surrounded him lowered their heads.

"Continue, Samuel." The Captain simple said.

Philon took one last look at the man, before focusing his attention on the orange AI in front of him.

"I am the shipboard AI of the retrofitted Phoenix-class ship, the _Transcendent_ , of which we are currently on board. We are members of the United Nations Space Command, the military, exploratory, and scientific arm of the United Earth Government created in the year 2163."

"Right, well I know for sure you're not from around here. There isn't a United Earth Government, nor is there such a thing as the UNSC." Philon said, reclining back into his seat as Samuel nodded. The AI took its sailor's cap off, pushing it on his chest as he continued.

"For nearly 400 years, the UNSC expanded outwards into the stars, occupying more than 800 different planets. We remained unopposed and unchallenged."

Philon looked on in boyish wonder as Samuel's hologram changed to an image of Earth, zooming out to show the many different worlds and systems that humanity had occupied in wherever Garland and the others had come from.

He had never truly known peace; his entire life was a struggle for survival. To think that a society out there had existed with peace was enlightening, and Philon would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.

"A series of rebellions on colonies wishing to be independent from the UNSC occurred, spawning the Insurrection movement. In 2525, humanity discovered that it was not alone. A group of different species bound together in a Theocracy known as the Covenant attacked, and by the year 2548, the year we currently are in, the Covenant had pushed the UNSC back deeper and deeper into our Core worlds."

Philon nodded, unable to think how powerful this Covenant had to be to push an empire comprised of over 800 worlds into retreat.

Samuel reappeared, a serious look on his face.

"We were assigned to a research flotilla. An unfortunate series of events transpired, and here we are, in an entirely different universe altogether. No UNSC, no advanced Earth…just us." The AI said, turning his back to look at the Captains.

"I'll take my leave now, Captain." He said.

Garland nodded at him, and as the orange glow of his hologram disappeared, the Captain looked at Philon with tired eyes; a look that Philon knew all too well.

"I've…discussed this with the other Captains of what remains of our flotilla. We've already been to Australia, confirming that there isn't a UNSC in this universe."

Philon nodded, egging the man to continue.

"We can't get back to our own Universe without replicating the events that occurred that got us here in the first place. We can't do that without help."

The Courier raised an eyebrow at him. Dare he admit it, but he was starting to like where this was going. "Could you elaborate that for me, Captain."

Garland pursed his lips, and Philon knew that whatever he was about to say went against everything he actually wished to do.

"We found a substance," Garland began, clasping his hands together in front of him. "That inadvertently sent us here. We can't produce it without facilities on the ground."

"And you need the ground?" Philon asked, a small smirk forming on his face. "Let's…not waste time here gentlemen. I guess you'd like to return to your universe as soon as possible. Meaning you'd need intact facilities to do your business with. You don't have the luxury of time to mine resources and build whatever you need. I'm sure that, in an advanced tin can such as this," he spread his arms wide, indicating the ship they were in, "you already know that I have those facilities you need."

The collective of Captains in front of him seemed to purse their lips in unison, with some openly showing the anger on their faces.

"How about a deal then?" Philon pushed on, "You have what I want, and I have what you need. I propose a trade." He said.

A dangerous look passed over Garland's face as he cautiously replied to Philon.

"What do you suggest?"

Philon let out a predatory smile, baring his teeth as he answered back.

"You have a military capability that New Vegas doesn't. I'm not going to ask you to give me weapons and planes; no, no. Act as our defender while you produce what you need to get home. Teach the army; teach us how to build weapons, factories and products on our own. Help us build a stable government and economy." Philon said, his finger tapping the table with each point he made.

"In return, you get to do what you want with the intact facilities. Use the land in the Mojave to build whatever you need. When you get what you want, you can leave."

Garland glared daggers at him, as the Captains around him burst into hushed conversations with each other.

It was silent for a time, as no one spoke out aloud. Only the silent whispers of the other Captains talking to each other could be heard, and Philon knew that he had them by the balls, so to speak. He was nervous all throughout, waiting for Captain Garland. He and New Vegas needed this deal, especially with the bolstered morale of the NCR. They might have evacuated, but it showed that New Vegas was vulnerable.

Two Marines entered the room, what seemed like pistols remained strapped to their thighs. They went straight to Philon, their faces emotionless as Garland spoke.

"My men will bring you to a lounge where you will be given anything you want." He said, standing up. "Me and the other Captains will…deliberate on the opportunity you've brought forward. We'll let you know of our decision." He finished, shaking Philon's remaining hand as the man was escorted out of the conference room, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

* * *

"You can't seriously be considering what he's offering, Captain?"

Garland winced as he threw his head back with a groan. As expected, Noles and the rest of the Captains had exploded into verbal tirades against him once Hawke had left, each one voicing their displeasure at what they perceived to be a wrong choice that Garland was currently in the process of making.

"That man is blackmailing us! Trying to milk us for what we're worth!" Noles screamed, standing from his seat as he paced back and forth.

"And what do you suggest we do Captain?" Garland screamed out in defense. He too stood up from his seat, arms opened wide as he stared at Noles with widened eyes. "He's right! He has what we need. Samuel's already made a timetable of how long retrofits on these factories here in New Vegas would take. Months, Noles, Months!" he exclaimed.

"Then why do we need to deal with this, this…upstart? Why not the NCR!" Captain Helsinki, who Garland had field promoted in the absence of the _Pyrrhus'_ real Captain, said.

"Ally ourselves to some faction that was willing to let criminals loose and kill innocents to have an excuse to invade? Seriously James?" Captain Munroe said, the woman and her fierce nature out in full force as spittle flew from her mouth.

"How do we know that that man wasn't lying? How do we know he was telling us the truth?" Noles said, crossing his arms in front of him as he glared at Munroe.

"Because boots on the ground confirmed it, Captain."

Samuel's sudden entrance into the conversation had every Captain whirl their heads round to him, the orange hologram of the AI illuminating all of their faces as the man adjusted the sailor's had on his head.

"Pardon me, Captains, but Zodiac-1 has just reported in." The AI said, "And they've captured one of the men involved with the attack on Mr. Hawke's person. We've…relinquished him from some information, and what he's provided so far corroborates perfectly with what Hawke had been telling us."

"So what, this NCR hired some mercs to do their job for them?" Noles asked, an incredulous look on his face.

"It would seem that way Captain." Samuel replied.

The room was silent for few moments, as Noles returned to his pacing and Garland thought about the precarious situation more.

"Then we don't trust anyone!" Captain Ortiz, a survivor from one of the ships that had to be scuttled said. "We take what we want by force!"

Noise burst out once again as the various Captains began shouting at each other, Munroe being the most vocal out of them all as she animatedly discussed her opinions.

"Enough!" Garland shouted, and as one the Captains became silent.

"We are not allying ourselves to a State willing to go to extreme lows to get what they want. My brother died in the Insurrection, and I'm not going to put citizens in the crosshairs of some trigger happy country." He said, looking at Helsinki. Garland turned to look at Ortiz, saying: "And we're not going to take anything by force. There's barely 20,000 of us, and we don't know how many of them. You want to try and build factories someplace else, be my guest. We don't have the resources to do that, and even if we did it'll take us years to get back. No."

Garland thrust his fist into the conference table, his nostrils flares and eyes wide as stared at the other Captains.

"We do this the safest way possible. We help this New Vegas, make them into a proper State. But we don't need to give everything. NOVA Bombs, Nuclear Weaponry; we don't give them WMD's. We teach them, and teach them responsibility as well. I'm not going to be a proponent for genocide." He declared, earning a pleased look from both Samuel and Munroe.

"Right now, New Vegas is our best shot. I'm not going to risk the lives of our men, so if they get into a war we break free of them, protect what factories we have but other than that we don't dole out our assistance. Think of this more like a…goodwill mission. Build schools, industry, roads, factories; get them standing upright and when we get what we want, we leave."

The looks the other Captains, those who didn't want to be involved at all, were a mixture of hesitancy and doubt. The others that supported him nodded emphatically, looking at the other Captains with pleading faces.

Noles spoke first, releasing a long sigh that the Captain didn't realize he had held on to.

"Fine. If things go South, we take what want anyway and bug out." Noles said.

Garland nodded, turning to Samuel with a serious look on his face.

"Have the Marines escort Mr. Hawke back. We've made out decision."

* * *

"We accept."

It was those two simple words that had Philon grinning from ear to ear, a satisfied and relieved feeling exploding out from within him.

The collective of Captains in front of him held onto their expressionless masks, none of them having any reaction to Philon's large smile, or to the satisfied 'yes' the man had let out.

Garland held up a hand, and Philon nodded to him, giving his attention to the man.

"There are specific stipulations that we must negotiate on. At the end of this, to solidify our deal we'll put it on paper as a deal between the Independent State of New Vegas and the UNSC. For legal purposes of course." Garland said, his face never betraying his emotions.

Philon nodded in acceptance, before sullenly pausing as he looked at his missing hand.

"I don't suppose your universe replaces limbs."

Garland actually smiled at that one, lowering his head as he shook it disbelievingly.

"We'll shoe it in as part of our deal.

"Great!" Philon exclaimed, a pleased look on his face.

"Samuel, could you please prepare a contract for what we're about to negotiate on." Garland inquired, looking up at the burst of orange light as Samuel's holographic form took life.

"Of course." The AI said, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

* * *

The grueling 12 hours of negotiations were the longest of Philon's life as he used whatever charisma he had to secure the best possible deal for his people.

He had first informed them of the existence of several other 'species' in the wastes, something they had appreciated immensely. They took the information on the Super Mutants, Ghouls and the other, more feral creatures out there with gusto, passing the information along to their scientists. He went into great detail to explain each one to them, discussing thoroughly the plight of the Feral Ghouls and the Nigtkin.

They had taken his explanations to heart, and as soon as they were able relayed the information to the troops they had on the ground. Small skirmishes between curious Super Mutants and Ghouls were avoided thanks to the information he had provided.

As promised, Garland and Philon had signed a contract to signify their deal, shaking their hands in happiness afterwards at the success of the negotiations.

Itemized in their agreement, written in bullet form to be easier to read and understand, were everything they had negotiated upon. Philon smirked at the beauty of it, reading the agreement again and again as he felt his heart flutter with happiness, looking forward to the brighter future in store for New Vegas.

They had both agreed that it was only fair to rebuild or upgrade whatever facilities in New Vegas were left first. Fifty percent of the total number of facilities in the Mojave would be operated by New Vegas, while the other half would be operated by the UNSC for their own goals. After the facilities had been repaired or upgraded, a Deuterium Fusion Reactor as they called it would be built in the Quarry Junction (which was to be cleared out in a combined assault by the New Vegas Army and the UNSC Marines). New power lines would be built both above ground and underground, connecting the Reactor to the rest of the country through a series of substations and control regional control facilities.

Samuel had explained the capabilities of the reactor to Philon, claiming that it would be able to provide the energy needs of the entire Mojave all the way up to San Francisco for 300 years at optimum levels of functionality.

Plus, Deuterium was in water, something that despite being a desert, the Mojave was abundant in (one needed to only look at Hoover Dam after all).

This was something that Philon had been very happy about. He didn't want New Vegas to depend entirely on the HELIOS One facility and Hoover Dam for its energy needs. The Strip alone took up most of what energy the HELIOS One facility generated, so it was quite a relief for him to know that an alternative and sustainable form of energy was now available to him and New Vegas.

The UNSC would not give any of its equipment, whether for construction purposes or otherwise. This detail, which Philon did not like, was non-negotiable. As Captain Garland argued, the people of New Vegas had to learn how to build things on their own from the ground up, starting with the little things. All the things that the UNSC would build for them right now were things that they needed in the immediate future. What they would need to build a sustainable society, they had to teach themselves how to make it.

Philon eventually agreed, seeing the philosophy and purpose behind this, and realized why the NCR had been as successful as they were was not because they had things given to them.

It was because they build it on their own.

And so he agreed, haggling instead for their assistance in teaching the masses what they know.

After some debate (which lasted for all but one minute), the Captains agreed to lend whoever they could to assist in teaching the youth, provided that New Vegas would build their own schools. Samuel was helpful in delving into the rich academic history of the UNSC, to choose books that New Vegas could produce, study and teach to the young. Educational paraphernalia from nursery all the way College were created by Samuel almost instantaneously, something Philon thanked the AI for.

Much of the focus, they agreed, should be on providing primary and secondary education for the youth of the small country. The adults would have to simply be educated should they volunteer for it. One thing that Philon thanked the stars for was that New Vegas was overflowing with individuals qualified to teach primary and secondary education.

Farming was something that, despite the UNSC's suspicion of Philon, the two factions had quickly finished, with all agreeing that giving the people of New Vegas the technology to grow an assortment of crops that didn't die out easily should not even be discussed. In fact, it was Noles who suggested that in the interest of time, JOTUN Mechs (farming machines) should be the first things that New Vegas controlled facilities should produce.

They discussed New Vegas' infrastructure next (or its lack of it).

The streets had to be cleaned up, the debris from fallen buildings and broken roads from years past had to be cleared out. Housing would have to be built for the poor, somewhere near New Vegas so that the funds generated from the gambling done there would quickly be disseminated to the public housing that the UNSC and Philon had agreed to make.

Things became a little bit more complicated when they got into military matters however, as the UNSC were reluctant to part with anything military wise with Philon.

In the end, they had provided Philon with blueprints to the basic weapons and armors they used, all of which could be easily produced by the upgraded facilities that New Vegas would soon be operating. Blueprints to tanks and other vehicles were also provided, with the Pelican on top of what Philon wished to produce, if only for its civil applications.

Looking down at the North American continent through a viewport in the _Transcendent's_ Medical Bay was interesting to say the least. The good Doctor who was attaching a mechanical forearm to him allowed him to silently mull over the decisions he made during the past few hours. He watched as Pelicans flew down to the Earth, smiling in fascination at the technological marvels these people form the UNSC were able to achieve.

Not for the first time that day did his mind wander, thinking of the discoveries the UNSC had made in their ventures out into space. He idly wondered what was out there, his face morphing into a grin filled with boyish wonder as he imagined the many untainted worlds humanity may find out there in the stars.

 _Soon._ He thought, _soon mankind will rise. And New Vegas shall lead it._


	7. In the New Millenia

**UNSC Transcendent  
March 10, 2282**

"So tell me again, doc. How does this work?"

Philon could have sworn he heard the soft chuckle from the man standing next to his bed, as he glanced down at the metallic frame of his artificial hand. He had chosen to do away with the exterior plating that would have made his new hand look more like a…hand, instead sticking to the skeletal design that the doctor, who was named Luis Amundsen, had chosen for him.

"Well," the man replied, "you already know we installed a neural interface at the base of your neck."

A friendly tap to his nape sent an uncomfortable numbness shooting down his spine, quickly receding soon after.

"Yeah, but how does _this_ work?" He asked again, gesturing to the artificial arm.

Amundsen tapped his head, explaining: "When I turn your neural interface on, it'll seem like you really have a real arm. Move your fingers, put it in your ear, clench your fist; every thought you have regarding your arm sends impulses to the interface. It translates it, modifies the impulses into code, thus moving your hand and arm."

The Courier nodded in understanding, the time he spent with Arcade paying dividends in his ability to comprehend the intricacies of science, biology and mechanics.

"Forgive me, but you don't seem all that bothered that you've lost an arm." Amundsen said, moving towards one of the cabinets in the Med Bay. "Losing a limb couldn't have been easy, I imagine."

"Well…" Philon began, his eyes misting over as he thought about his scientist friend. "Let's just say I found this place." He said with a knowing smirk. Indeed, he wasn't bothered at all about his lost limb, knowing that Arcade would have thought something up, especially with all there was in Big Mountain.

Hell, if Arcade couldn't help, the brains in the Big MT complex would. He figured they'd have something for cut off limbs, considering they took his brain and heart amongst other things out of his body.

"Right." The doctor said skeptically, stopping his attempt at reorganizing the different medicines he had in the cabinet as he paused to look at Philon with an expression of intrigue painted on his face.

"Now, Captain Garland's already told me things he spoke to you about. Things you know." The doctor began, turning his attention back to the cabinet. "You're going to have a few weeks' worth of soreness and pain shooting up your arm. Entirely normal I assure you. The best part is, after everything's been said and done, your new arm will feel like a real one, touch and all." He said, tapping his thigh as he did so.

The doctor looked at Philon, who remained silent as he took a seat in front of him.

"I've spent nearly ten years patching up soldiers, and I know an inquisitive face when I see one." He began. "Ask away."

Philon hesitated for a second, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to verbalize the questions forming in his mind. Finally, he spoke: "What was it like?"

The doctor closed his eyes, his brown hair covering his eyes as the man lowered his head, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes to look at him, Philon saw eyes that he normally would only see in the faces of men who have lost much in their lives; tired, but still willfully pushing on with their lives.

"I was with several of my friends when the Covenant came – I'm sure the Captains have discussed this with you. I was just finishing my dissertation to become a fully-fledged Doctor." Amundsen said with a smile. "A plasma grenade took my right leg off. Thankfully, all I need are my hands to be successful!"

Momentarily, the doctor adopted a look on grief as he silently lowered his head, removing the spectacles he had on.

"Imagine hearing casualty reports every day for as long as you've remembered." He said, wiping his glasses clean. "Casualties numbering in the millions each day. No matter what we've achieved as a species by then, things like that are always staggering to hear."

Amundsen raised his head, his eyes fixated deeply into Philon's own. "Mr. Hawke," he began, "I understand you're a leader. The Captain ensured I provide you with top of the line services after all."

Philon shook his head at the doctor's attempt at humor, before he nodded in affirmative to the man.

The doctor leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he spoke in a hushed voice.

"Then, don't squander this opportunity that we're giving you by teaching your followers false morals and ideologies. The only ideology you should allow and teach is the ideology of a united humanity." He said a begging edge in his voice.

"You have an opportunity to fix whatever's happened on this Earth. If you have to fight, fight under the pretense of uniting humanity to propel it forwards. Don't ever fight for petty disillusioned beliefs like race, religion…there are bigger opponents that humans have."

Amundsen stood up abruptly, walking away from Philon with a limp that he only noticed then.

The Courier nodded behind the man's back, agreeing with his words as he felt his artificial arm come to life.

He pondered the doctor's words as he clenched his new fist.

* * *

 **New Vegas, Camp Golf  
March 16, 2282**

In the days following the bombing of Camp McCarran and the New Vegas Jail (which was the old NCR Correctional Facility), the UNSC had transferred the displaced army from Camp McCarran onto Camp Golf which, although not a perfectly good place for a military base, was the most ideal location to place the otherwise homeless army of New Vegas. Built more as a resort than an actual Military Camp from before the bombs fell, Philon's first time exploring the area had him laughing at the small number of NCR troops on site. Considering that it was supposed to be a 'frontline' of the NCR's war against Cesar's Legion, the amount of soldiers in the area were far too small to form a credible force against the bigger number of troops Caesar had.

Which was why Camp Golf as it was now was shocking beyond belief to Philon as he stepped off the Pelican that had brought him down from the Strip _._ It had been days since he had penned the agreement between the UNSC and the ISNV, and so far, the UNSC were keeping their promises. He had been able to talk to General Powers (a grizzled old NCR Army defector), who he had personally assigned to command New Vegas' one and only brigade, and from his reports, the UNSC had really established Camp Golf into a respectable fortress.

He had no idea how respectable Powers was saying the Camp would be.

The UNSC had gone all out in fortifying the place, turning it into a real military Camp. In light of their agreement, he noticed obstacle courses spread around in what used to be 'tent alley,' as he had called it. Pits of mud with barbed wire spread out on top of it decorated one area, while monkey bars, ropes arranged in different ways, and thin planks decorated another; in short, it was a training ground that promised pain to whoever was daring enough to test it.

A fence had been set up, surrounding an acre of land all around the Camp with one entrance at the road leading up to Camp Golf, and another just behind the main building.

New Vegas soldiers were posted at these entrances, sporting assault rifles and the army's standard issue pistols. Foxholes had been dug into the ground, where several of the New Vegas Army turrets were set up in. Sniper nests had been put up on the main building's roof, and several towers made out of what appeared to be wood cut from fallen tree trunks adorned the site, providing shelter for anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in guard duty.

Only a few UNSC personnel were on site, with most of them gathered around the three Pelicans parked just outside the main building. A large metallic container had been placed not far from the Pelicans, in what Philon could only assume as the UNSC's current base, with the officer's Captain Garland had promised to train his men were located in. What seemed like small satellite dishes and antennas adorned the top of it, with the tips of some blinking in a red light.

He walked towards it, giving the crew of the Pelican a quick thanks as the new Pipboy attached to his artificial arm for everyone to see (and so was his new arm) glinted in the sun. Several soldiers of New Vegas saluted him as he walked by, salutes he returned in earnest to the men and women greeting him.

The small metal building had an automated door, opening up as soon as Philon had walked up close to it.

A large conference table sat in the middle of the room, stacks of paper on top of it. UNSC Officers, dressed in their usual black fatigues, could be seen in every corner of the room, with some manning computer terminals and other manning what seemed to be communication hubs. General Powers sat at the far end of the table, opposite a UNSC Officer and beside the man Philon was there for.

Wells.

His face still held onto the mask of seriousness he had always utilized to great effect. The old man's gruff beard was as thick as he last remembered it to be.

The UNSC Officer opposite General Powers was the first to take notice of him, screaming out a quick 'Attention!' prompting personnel from both the UNSC and ISNV Army to stand from their seats in attention.

"At ease." Philon simply replied with a shy smile, shaking hands with the officer who had screamed for attention.

"Sir, I'm Colonel Addar, 21st UNSC Marine Regiment."

"Mr. Hawke." General Powers greeted him.

He nodded to them both, shaking their hands as he nudged his head towards the table. "What have you got for me gentlemen?"

"Well, we were actually just finishing up with a workable timetable to train the troops." Powers said, moving behind Philon as he moved closer to the table. "We've discussed the possibility of opening a proper Military Academy, get proper officers not chosen from the pool of NCOs that we currently have."

"And?" Philon asked, egging the General to go on.

"Well," Powers began, "the army's too small number wise. It'd be useless to have a surplus of officers without a fighting force. Good news is, considering how rich New Vegas is in willing people; we shouldn't have a problem with a concerted recruitment drive."

"Not until we have enough money." Philon said in a low voice.

Addar had heard him, coughing slightly as he smiled cheekily. "Well, it's a good thing that in a few months you'll be an economic powerhouse."

Philon smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "We'll see."

He pursed his lips for a moment, observing how the men and women around him worked quietly. Finally, he turned to Addar, nodding his head to Wells. "Might I borrow him for a moment?" he asked.

Addar nodded, prompting Philon and the old man, who was quick to notice his new arm, walk out of the building, walking quite a distance away as a light breeze swept across the land.

The man simply raised a curious brow at the Courier, who had turned around to face him.

"What?" Wells asked.

Philon smiled at him, pulling out an envelope from his trench coat.

"I've officially traced out the ISNV's borders." He handed the envelope to the Rogue, putting his hands in his pockets as he stared out at the landscape. "Won't really be accepted until we have a civil government. I finalized the borders so that we could start a census office already; get civilians to register, get ready for an election."

"Are you serious?" Wells asked, surprise creeping up in his voice.

Philon mockingly looked hurt, placing a hand to his chest.

"You really didn't think I wanted to be in power forever did you? Has Cassidy ever told you about that time I-"

"Killed a 200 year old mummy, yes the girl told me." Wells firmly said, envelope still clutched in his hand. He spat on the ground, adjusting the worn cowboy hat he had on. "But, are you sure about this? Elections are a big thing."

Philon nodded, patting the man in the back for assurance. "I am. I figured it was time. What with the UNSC and all."

Wells pursed his lips, taking off his hat as he closed his arms around Philon. "Look, now I don't yer crazy at all. But are you sure we can rust these fellers? Half of them look scared staring at old Brahmin pairs fucking like it was a full moon. The other half I have no doubt can kill me and every critter out there."

"Trust issues?" Philon asked, a smile on his face.

"I don't trust any feller who could shoot you right between the eyes."

"So you don't trust me?"

"Only as far as I can spit, and I only really do because of Cassidy."

Wells looked down at the envelope in his hands, the New Vegas seal, (a double headed eagle with four spears spread out on either side of it, with the words 'Ubi Concordia, Ibi Victoria' written at the bottom of it) plastered on the top.

"Looks fancy." He commented.

"Had some help from Arcade." Philon answered.

"That old cranky feller? Surprised the bug hasn't died yet." Wells dryly commented. "You nearly set Cassidy loose on me when you just disappeared with them UNSC folks. Glad they're friendly." He said, before nodding his head to Philon's new arm. "They gave you a shiny new toy too. What? NCR carve out your ass?"

Philon laughed, flexing the new hand. "I kind of like it. I can punch you a new asshole if you like."

Wells laughed, grabbing Philon's new hand into a tight handshake. "I'm just glad you're okay boy." He said. "Now, when are you visiting Cassidy? And, what do you need me to do about this election?"

Philon looked seriously at him, biting his lip as the man held an internal debate about the next few words to leave his mouth.

Finally, he answered.

"I need you to organize the Rogues into a counter-espionage outfit."

"What?" Wells said in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Philon laughed lightly, patting him on the back.

He kicked a small rock away, watching as a cloud of dust mushroomed into the air.

"I'm…making this new group. People to work in the shadows. To protect us from threats we don't know about." He said, looking down at the envelope in Wells' hands. "Read that, then burn it. Give me your answer when boot camp starts."

"But…but why?" Powers asked.

"They bombed us, Wells." Philon began, staring into the man's eyes. "They bombed us, hit us where it hurt and we didn't even see it coming. They used drugs as an excuse to drag me out. New Vegas needs a shield. People to do the dirty work under the scenes; work to keep it safe."

The Courier glanced down, a sigh escaping from his lips. "I can't do this alone. I might have during Hoover Dam but…our enemies didn't play dirty then, they won't now. The Rogues, good as they are, they can't do it acting alone. And I want you to lead them."

Wells nodded, unsure of what else to say.

"Glad you agree." Philon simply said, smiling.

Wells watched as he walked away with a smile. "Give my regards to Colonel Addar...and Major Boone! Change is coming, friend!"

Wells looked down at the envelope, tearing it open as Philon boarded a Pelican. The paper was unlike anything he had ever touched in his life; it was very different from the yellowed paper that the NCR used, or the paper from old pre-war books that barely anybody ever made.

He opened it, glancing down at the official and typewritten text.

 _NEVICENT  
New Vegas Intelligence Center_

* * *

 **April 4, 2282  
**

Early mornings in the Strip and Freeside (which had finally seen better days with the amount of cleanup crews the Courier had sent out) usually just involved a hearty breakfast for those who could afford it and the beginning of yet another painful day for others who couldn't. Routines in the Strip hadn't much changed; getting out of hotel beds to have an early morning go at the casinos still brought in heaps of cash into the Hotel owners (and to the ISNV).

But today's morning was different. There was a different vibe; a different energy in the air that made even the toughest of the Kings pause in their step as they looked around them, unsure of what was occurring. It wasn't the presence of actual, working military vehicles scattered around the strip, with black armored troops guarding them. It wasn't the Vertibird like planes parked on the roofs of abandoned buildings, or the missing barrier that divided the Strip and Freeside. No, all of those had become the norm for many of New Vegas.

Everyone had heard about the UNSC by now, and everyone had heard about the ISNV closing down its borders from those wishing to leave and enter New Vegas (one had to get papers from a 'Department of Border Security and Control'). News of factories being restarted out in the wastes, while shocking, had quickly become an accepted fact of life for many, as the factories literally employed several hundred thousand of previously unemployed individuals.

People enjoyed freedom and safety now; gangs like the Vipers, the Great Khans, or Raider groups had all been publicly wiped out by the Courier and the UNSC. Eyewitnesses, unreliable already due to their habits of stretching stories, had become mumbling messes as they tried to convey what they had seen. Recurring themes of battles being one-sided and of gangs being slaughtered in droves scared most people aspiring of joining such groups into silence.

The lack of gangs to join pushed people into working at the new factories, and those who came home from a day's worth of work almost always came back with smiles on their faces, with some commenting on seeing a 'brighter future' for New Vegas.

No, it wasn't those changes to New Vegas that people found to be what was new to their Early Mornings. It was not until men wearing blue uniforms started walking the streets did the people realize what was new this time in their country.

Flags.

The main road leading up to the Strip had been remade, ('sometime last night' as some citizens would say), with a center island sitting in the middle of the street. Flags had been planted on it, with a sea of green grass and other flowers covering its base. Many looked in wonder at the magnificent view of greens and yellows at the base of the flag poles, having never seen something like it in their lives.

Some merely pointed at it, while others attempted to pick from the bundle of sunflowers plants, only stopped by the intervention of the men in blue. Some of them they had recognized as being their neighbors, employed by the Courier himself. They smiled at them, the same symbol on the flags stitched proudly on the breast of their uniforms; two horizontal black lines against a backdrop of grey, with the center having a symbol that most felt proud to look at, feeling that it was to be the symbol of the people of New Vegas. It resembled a bird, colored red with its wings spread proudly, pointing into the sky with the bottom part of it rounded to perfection.

Most in the future would call it a symbol of hope; most would just refer to it as the _Starbird._

And as most of them would encounter that day, flags on most of the 'Government' owned buildings were proudly displayed, the winds giving a graceful look to the symbol as many looked on in wonder. Many had stopped momentarily to look at the flags, before smiling and walking away. Even people from UNSC had started treating them differently. Whereas before, the most anyone ever got from them was cold professionalism; as if their presence in New Vegas was simply a job.

Today though, the UNSC (boy scouts as most had started calling them) had treated them with empathy. Guards, doctors and other staff from clinics all around the wasteland had started smiling at them more warmly, with the many security personnel posted in the many different towns (even those posted just outside Jacobstown) had become friendlier to those they guarded. Although Martial Law was still in effect due to the bombings (with the NCR's involvement being kept secret to avoid public outcry), the people of New Vegas began feeling even safer with their friendlier watchers.

As the people of New Vegas would continue to celebrate their newfound glory and peace, guided under the watchful and empathetic eyes of the UNSC as well as the steady hand the Courier, a storm gathered to their east. In the months that would pass by, as New Vegas steadily increased its industry, building vehicles, housing, new factories, construction equipment and the new Deuterium Fusion Core that would power the entire country for decades to come, a Brotherhood watched.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I might not be updating on an every day kind of frequency, as I'm replaying FO:NV, FO3 and FO4 to look into some of the choices the main character in each game might make that ties in best with the plot I've written up. Just to let you guys know.

If you're enjoying the story, hit subscribe! Have any tips/suggestions/questions? Comment down below and let me know!

Jocson


	8. Growing Pains

**Washington D.C.  
Circa 2282**

The Capital Wasteland had never known peace like this before.

Violence was virtually non-existent, with large groups of armored men roaming the lands; standing guard against any threat. Armed with high-powered rifles and energy weapons, these men and women fearlessly walked around, with an air of ownership to a land whose people have all but given it to them.

Despite the peace, fresh water and the opportunity to peacefully create vibrant communities, the Capital remained filled with the remains of the war that had taken place 200 years prior; a war that rained nuclear fire down upon the Earth.

Even the battle that had occurred four years before were still present.

And still, despite the lack of innovation and progress, the people of the Capital Wasteland live on. Five years on, and the acts of the mysterious vault dweller, the Lone Wanderer, still echoed in the daily living of many. Slaver groups remained next to nonexistent in the wastes, with raiders even more so. The Wanderer, having eradicated the many groups that caused discord in the wastes, disappeared soon after; the wonderful lives of the many he saved serving as a testament to the woman's selfless acts.

Yet as peaceful as the wasteland was, there was an unease hanging in the air. Brotherhood Soldiers walked anywhere they wished to, acting as if the entire wasteland belonged to them. They had more recently begun recruiting from outside their own, allowing any who wished to serve the cause of the Brotherhood to do so. None were safe from what was essentially the Brotherhood's annexation, not even the inhabitants of Vault 101, whose Vault door was forcibly opened, allowing the Brotherhood to use it as a safe headquarters for the think tanks of its growing army. The inhabitants were carelessly cast aside, with most travelling to Megaton to begin new lives.

Whether one wished to be part of it or not, any who tread the roads of the Capital lived under the shadow of the Brotherhood.

Why not? They had provided safety, security, and opportunity to grow. Aside from their demands that farmlands provide a share of their produce to them, and an everlasting Martial Law that included a policy of not allowing anyone but Caravans to travel in and out of the Capital, there was nothing much the people could complain about.

Many saw it this way…and even many more had reasons to complain about the Brotherhood's newfound attitude of destroying any newly developed technologies; at least, technologies not developed in the Capital. Everything else, they saw as a threat. They had set their eyes outward, their greediness, and their need in acquiring new technology consuming what the people once knew to be an honorable people. What they could not have, they would destroy. What they could, they took.

And more often than not, as they took whatever piece of Old World or New World technology from the grasp of its creators, they took the land it was in as well. From the Delaware River to the entire State of Virginia and the northern parts of North Carolina, the Brotherhood grew. They increased their militancy, conscripting people from the lands they conquered.

As they grew greedier and more powerful, none could still complain, living in peaceful lives under their banner. They did not kill needlessly (except when the subject matter they were tackling was technology), nor did they make lives difficult from the people of the wastes. It was prosperous; it was just difficult to swallow the thought that someday, the Brotherhood would go West, where people knew far more powerful states existed.

Most attributed this new behavior exhibited by the Brotherhood on Owen Lyon's and her daughter's death. They had moved away from the Lyon's policies and beliefs, and adapted the cold realism held by Arthur Maxson; the new Elder.

Nearly a thousand Brotherhood members left, exiling themselves from a Brotherhood they believe had gone down a wrong path. They traveled west, with none knowing where they had gone. Rumor has it, that they perished in the wastes; or that they had established a community somewhere in Midwest.

Many more believed that they came with the Lone Wanderer.

As the sun set on its territories, the Brotherhood indeed looked to the West. The NCR, the Legion, Chicago, Denver…all would be brought to heel.

But first...there was Boston.

* * *

 **The Strip, Independent State of New Vegas  
June 6, 2282**

"Okay, okay loco; you mean to tell me, that these people use a currency called bottlecaps…made from actual _bottle_ _caps_?"

Vega looked up from his dismantled rifle, his hands in the middle of removing a screw from the ammo counter. Sanchez and Eriksen were currently in the middle of an animated conversation, with the former being the most disgruntled of the two.

Eriksen nodded, pursing his lips together as he shrugged, as if to say he couldn't believe the truth either.

In Sanchez's defense, Vega would have been in disbelief of what he was being told as well. It had been well over a few weeks already since the remaining personnel of the research flotilla had decided to settle down on New Vegas. Since providing aid to the NCR and acting as temporary guards on behalf of the ISNV, almost everyone hadn't had the chance to mingle with the locals. Aside from a few personnel assigned to clinics and support for NVR hunting parties (against crime groups no less), not everyone had the chance to see what New Vegas had to offer.

Vega and his squad were amongst those unlucky individuals, never really getting a taste of what New Vegas was. They were assigned on a security detail for the temporary base of operations in the region, which just so happened to be the NCR's old embassy. All things considered, he figured the NCR must view this as a spit to their face (not that they'll know, considering the Martial Law). He could only hope that they or anyone else really, fought anytime soon.

Humanity had bigger problems that duking it out against each other.

None of them had any decent shore leave, considering that aside from the guard duties and attachments to NVR hunting groups, most of the men had been assigned to protect the factories the UNSC had just rebuilt-slash-remodeled.

Not that they were producing anything.

From the men he'd talked to on the _Transcendent_ during his time unassigned to any jobs let him meet with men who could report nothing else but bad news. The factories they had 'requisitioned' were working, that much was a fact as far as the men could tell. They just weren't producing the things they wanted to produce.

Chiefly among them, the mysterious substance that got them here in the first place.

Garland and the other Captains hadn't withheld information from them, giving them a complete picture of what their situation was. To say the least, morale wasn't at an all-time high, and their boredom wasn't helping either.

Such situations, even back in their 'real' universe, led to moments like these, where all men could do was engage in light banter; ultimately resigning themselves to repeated drills and cleaning their weapons.

And so, as he listened in on the conversation of his two men, he removed the ammo counter housing from the top of his MA5C, turning it over to apply a bit of cleaning fluid down the bottom of the counter.

"Okay, so aside from this place looking like a rip-off of some cheesy 20th Century sci-fi film, these guys use Tommy Guns as well? Oh dios mio, you're kidding me loco."

Eriksen shrugged, putting his feet up on a table as he took a puff from the cigarette he was smoking.

"Believe it or not, it doesn't matter man. All I know is that with Big Betsy, whatever they shoot at us won't even matter."

Sanchez shook his head, drinking from the cup of water he had set aside on his table as he took apart his own rifle.

"Humans ain't the enemy. The Covenant is."

"So? Fellas shoot at you, murder, rape and pillage a couple of towns, and you aren't gonna shoot back? Forgive me, but the Lord gave me the power to hit back! Ezekiel 25:17 my friend. 25:17!"

The flap to their small tent opened up, allowing Johnson inside. A small gust of wind entered, and dust billowed in to cover most of Sanchez's rifle.

"Aw man! Thanks for making my job harder, hay punyeta." He commented.

Johnson put his own rifle down on top of his footlocker, taking off the jacket he had on as he smiled apologetically at Sanchez.

"Sorry, I just couldn't help but listen to the jackass say something bout' the Bible."

"You got something against religion?" Eriksen said, pursing his lips.

"Nah, I got problems with devils like you reading them."

"Oh, yeah. Original. Very funny. Ha-ha. Remind me to shove a bottle up my ass so I know when to actually laugh at something funny."

Vega smiled, having finished clipping a flashlight on the underside of his rifle.

"But seriously though," Eriksen began, "These pals of ours shoot at us, and you all have a problem with shooting back?"

"What are we talking about?" Johnson asked, sitting down beside Sanchez. He took a large swig from the glass of water he was holding, his face drenched in sweat.

"Poppie Sanchez here doesn't like shooting back at humans." Eriksen said, pointing a screwdriver towards his friend.

"I don't have anything against shooting back." Sanchez replied, a scandalized expression on his face. "Death Penalty isn't exactly outlawed in the UNSC muchacho. Firing squads even less. I just don't like it when these people start killing each other cause of some difference in beliefs. And now, we're helping. We're gonna give these people some weapons, and next thing you know they'll attack the NCR. The Legion, they can smear all across the face of this Earth. The NCR? Not entirely bad in my opinion."

"And that's why I think that while we're here, we help these fellas out. Hell, we could even stay!"

"Stay? Are you crazy loco?" Sanchez asked, having suddenly stopped cleaning his rifle. Johnson held a curious expression on his face, although he remained silent like Vega.

"Come on! You and I both know that the eggheads haven't come up with shit. It's a possibility we're staying here for good. So…let's make the best out of it! Build the UNSC here. These fellas need our help. A lot of it too!"

"Can you hear yourself? That's treason!"

"It ain't treason. You're being ridiculous. We can't find a way back, and as long as we can't, we need to think about survival here. We're still dragged down by our oaths. Hello? Humanity's here; on this rock right now. And we're duty bound to defend and help them."

Sanchez scratched the back of his head, pushing his gaze downwards to his table as Eriksen looked towards Vega. "What do you think Corporal?"

Vega merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow as he raised his cleaned rifle, sliding his fingers across its cool metal.

"…I agree." He finally said after a while. "They're still humans, so we help."

"Corporal, come on we have duties back in the UNSC!" Sanchez exclaimed, leaning into his seat.

"I know," Vega said, looking at all three of his men. "And part of that duty is helping humanity out. I get why you don't want them to slaughter each other, I fought Insurrectionists after all. But if we can't make it back…what then?"

He gave each of them a serious look, setting aside his rifle as he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned on his table. "Whether survival means giving these people weapons, teaching them, feeding them; whatever forms that takes I'm game."

Silence met his reply; at least until Eriksen started clapping.

"Beautiful. Couldn't have said that shit better." He said, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"Screw you Snips." Sanchez replied, going back to cleaning his rifle with gusto. Johnson meanwhile remained silent, taking an unsure look at Vega, which the Corporal did not notice.

* * *

 **UNSC Transcendent  
July 19, 2282**

"And, like last time, still no results Captain."

Garland could only bury his head in his hands out of frustration. Beside him, Ditko and the other crewmen softly sighed, this being the eighth time in a row that their attempts at producing the mysterious substance ended with failure.

The image of Doctor Morrow looked down to the ground, just as Garland asked: "And the other labs reported the same?"

Morrow nodded, and all Garland could do in reply was lean into his chair, resting his head on his left hand. He clicked his tongue, nodding and dismissing the Doctor. In a flash, her hologram disappeared, and everyone returned to their duties. Garland turned his seat around, facing the orange glow of Samuel's form.

"What do you think?" he asked the AI.

Samuel looked down, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet.

"The…chances of success, Captain…are low."

Garland nodded, sighing in frustration. As he turned to look at the rest of the bridge, he could see the disappointed looks on their faces. It was obvious from where he sat that since the fifth failure of their attempts at reproducing the substance the men had begun doing their jobs lazily. Ditko had once remarked to him in a private conversation that most of the men had lost hope at ever coming back, which diminished their capabilities in keeping the _Transcendent_ afloat.

He couldn't blame them. Nearly all of their lives from the moment of their birth to the day they had joined the UNSC had been shaped into fighting the Covenant. Now they were in a universe where there might not even be a Covenant to fight. He could relate, in a way. Being assigned to guard over a research flotilla in a star system with nothing of value made him feel without purpose; he should've been fighting Covenant, instead he was acting as a babysitter to eggheads.

"What about our New Vegas friends?" he asked instead, hoping to cheer himself up at the thought of helping our humans who essentially blew themselves up.

Hey, it was fun to be something like God every once and a while.

Samuel visibly smiled, his face morphing into an expression of uninhibited happiness as he opened different charts and diagrams, all showing positives.

"I must say that the people across this dull landscape are quite resourceful. Despite running their factories on limited resources, Mr. Hawke has managed to arm the entire army with brand new small arms based on one of the older MA37 designs."

A holographic image of the rifle appeared, closely resembling the MA5C that was standard issue in the UNSC.

"Quite curious that they would choose this design, although I do think the rifle being low maintenance has something to do with it."

"Do they even know it's experimental?" Garland asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Why, of course. All information has been included in the data packet we sent them." Samuel said, a cheeky smile on his face.

"As of now, there is an 8.4% increase every day in the number of enlisted men in their army. I calculate that they have approximately…800 to 1000 troops readily available, all armed."

"Go on." Garland replied, idly making a note of the information he was getting in his datapad.

"Due to a lack of resources available, they have chosen the Valkyrie Combat Armor, from 2440. It's cheap, durable, and from the munitions we've seen so far in the Mojave, would protect its user without question. The energy weapons…not so much protection there."

Garland noted this again, not letting any expression cross his face. In truth, he was worried and happy about these energy weapons. They were powerful, easy enough to produce batteries for, and were seemingly in large abundance across the wastes. They had already reproduced 'stronger' and 'refined' versions of it from Samuel's own designs, and would be a major boost to the war effort when the they made it back to the UNSC.

If they made it back.

He was worried because such technology usually warranted the attention of the Brotherhood of Steel, which Philon warned them about. The West Coast Chapter wasn't a threat, according to the man, but their East Coast compatriots might.

He could only count on Philon's words, and though he didn't trust him fully, the alliance between the UNSC and New Vegas was too precious to put on the line for some group they could simply rain blast away from the sky (deep in a bunker underground or not). Still, he'd reserve judgment until he actually met them.

For now, his description of the West Coast Brotherhood seemed to paint _them_ in a better light than their East Coast brethren. The West had begun to become progressive, actually helping people with technologies they had uncovered rather than being selfish and keeping such technologies away. Of course, such a shift away from their mandate only came when one of their own (a woman named Veronica) led a pseudo-civil war against their counterparts that wished to stick to the old ways. Needless to say, 10-1 odds wasn't fair.

Their East Coast sect however: much more troubling. The West still monitored their brothers, and in recent years as Philon said, the East had become what the West was previously; technologically selfish and power hungry. Although they still stuck to some of the ways that made them split from the West in the first place (such as public support and recruitment from outside the Brotherhood), their new leader a man named Arthur Maxson, had led them on a campaign to lock away Old World Technology and destroy any 'New World' technologies.

He didn't know how they would react to the UNSC or a technologically advancing New Vegas, but if they were hostile, they were a threat.

A huge threat since most of them used Power Armor and energy weapons. The former they could somewhat contend with, the latter however? No defense for it. Samuel didn't have designs for energy shielding, nor did he have designs for MJOLNIR.

Still, bombing them from the sky would be simpler. Not that they would. Or could.

Firing any of their space-to-ground weapons could mean splitting the ship in half. Or destroy several compartments at a time.

Not a good deal.

"Aside from those, they had not been able to produce much of anything else military wise. They have chosen the Warthog as their vehicle of preference of course, but a lack of resources makes it difficult for them to produce any. The reports our Army Consultants sent me states that they have started to scour scrapyards and debris fields for anything they could reuse."

"Would that even help?" Garland asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Building Warthogs? No. Building small arms weapons? Yes. They've built recycling plants anyway. It shouldn't be much of a problem. That is all for the military. Would you like me to go on?"

"Yes." Garland simply stated.

"Right, well, while only two factories have been dedicated to building their army, the rest of the factories they currently own are entirely for civil purposes. Around five factories, excluding the two others they are currently building on their own. Out of those five factories, one is a cement plant, two are metal refineries that act as recycling facilities as well; one is a beverage production center, and the last is a medical production facility."

"I thought you said they didn't have resources?" Garland asked.

"They don't…at least, they won't in a few months. I calculate that in the next eight or ten months, their resources will completely run dry."

Garland hummed in contemplation, an idea crossing his mind.

"Mr. Hawke has actually organized an expeditionary unit in the army to send out to the North."

"So, the man now wants to expand huh?" Garland said with distaste. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted the bastard. Now he'll start a war."

"On the contrary Captain," Samuel interjected, "Reports would suggest that he was reluctant in organizing these groups in the first place, fearing that he may start a war, contrary to your belief that he'd begin a war to get what he wants. No, he wants to get what his people need without war actually."

Garland merely glared at Samuel, unsure if he was to believe the AI.

"And you're to be believed because…"

Samuel looked affronted, jumping back away from the Captain as he incredulously exclaimed, "I'll have you know that I've double checked and triple checked the reports given to me, and accessed the helmet cameras of our ground side marines who have interacted with Mr. Hawke. All evidence suggests that he does not want to start a war!"

"Okay, okay calm down!" Garland said, trying to placate the AI. "I'm just making sure I didn't just deal with the devil."

"You aren't. The man personally ended the presence of the NCR-Legion War here in New Vegas. I doubt he'd want to start a war with anyone else anytime soon."

"But there is a possibility."

"Of course. Aren't we all thinking of using war to just get what we want?"

"Okay." Garland replied, "you have a point."

"Of course I have. I'm two-point-three million times smarter than you."

Garland rolled his eyes, bringing out his father's smoking pipe. He chewed on the end of it, motioning for Samuel to continue.

"Right, the access to these factories has allowed them to 'clean up' their country. Several unoccupied buildings with extremely reduced structural integrity have been demolished completely, their remains sent to recycling plants. The streets have been cleared with rubble, and the streetlights have been reconnected to the Grid, although some light bulbs have to be replaced. They've removed the barriers that chop up Freeside as well as removed the border between the Strip and Freeside. The move caused a 42.2% increase in profits from the Casinos."

"I don't really need to know this Samuel, give me the important stuff." Garland lightly chastised.

"Right, right, pardon me. Anyway, Mr. Hawke has formed a Statistics office headed by one…Alex Cross. They've recently begun scouring the wastes to have people fill out Citizenship Forms, possibly in preparation for an election."

"Really?" Garland asked in surprise, "What type of Government will they even run?"

"A democratic one for sure, but Mr. Hawke has yet to decide how he will go about this. We shall have to wait for a Constitution I'm afraid."

"Alright." Garland said in affirmation, jotting down more notes on his datapad.

"For now, they're functioning more like a limited Commonwealth, with most of the newly created offices answering to the ISNV Council. They're comprised of representatives from each g-"

"Yes, yes Samuel I read the data packet." Garland said irritably, waving his hand for the AI to continue.

"Right, sorry. It just gets me so excited to talk about these things! You don't know how boring calculating pi can be!" the AI said joyfully, before coughing as he regained his composure. "Anyway, a Finance Department has been set up, and they'll begin rolling out printed out notes next month. They have a good amount of Gold in their reserves, something both our Marines and their Army recovered from the Sierra Madre Mission a week ago. Speaking of, Doctor Morrow and the others, aside from trying to find a way back for us, are experimenting quite thoroughly with the Hologram Technology they found in the 'casino.'"

"So I've heard. She sent me a communique about it." Garland said, "I remember that mission. The freaks we had dismember to kill right?"

"Correct. I doubt anyone would be able to counterfeit them, considering that the notes and the machines to print them are based on the 2300 series of banknotes from the UNSC."

"Oh, thank God. It was ridiculous having to deal with bottle caps." Garland said, sighing in relief.

Samuel nodded, agreeing with the man. "Very."

"Anything else?" Garland asked.

"Hmm…nothing for now I believe. Unless you want to hear about several government owned companies coming into existence to take ownership over the factories."

"So, they're going for quasi-capitalism eh?"

"I lack the data needed to make a conclusion, but yes. Something like 21st Century China in the UNSC timeline."

"Alright. Send a data package to the other Captains based on what you just told me. And…I have an idea. But I need your opinion."

* * *

 **Flagstaff, Caesar's Legion  
August 4, 2282  
**

Fire. He had never smelt smoke and seen fires as big as those in front of him before. He reveled in the heat, his skin sweaty from underneath his armor as he decapitated the man that stood against him. His head fell to the ground, blood springing forth from his neck as the body fell to the ground.

A bullet whizzed past him, the displaced air slamming into the side of his face as he turned to look at the shooter.

The man was doused in red blood, his right leg clearly injured as he wobbled where he stood.

"Bring me that man's head!" He ordered, pointing to his would be killer.

His men roared in gusto, charging forwards with their makeshift spears and customized baseball bats.

"FOR THE GENERAL!" they screamed, slamming into the shooter with full force as they hit, stabbed and spit on the dying man's corpse.

He smiled viciously at the site, walking forward unopposed as the rusted gates of Flagstaff opened before him, his Legionnaires rushing forward unopposed. Explosions, cries for mercy and help surrounding him as he strode onwards, his custom made sword hanging loosely by his side as his men killed anyone in his way.

The palace was close now, flags of the Legion proudly displayed on its top.

"DIE TRAITOR!"

He moved to his left, narrowly missing a swipe from his attacker. The man quickly straightened up from the miss, swinging his sword upwards in the hopes of gutting him. He dodged again, thrusting his left shoulder into the man as brought his sword up, driving it through the man's torso.

His attacker silently screamed, unable to muster his voice as the sword pierced all the way through his lungs. The sword in his hand slipped away, and all he saw in the end was _his_ face, sneering down at him in contempt as he slid the sword out of him. Blood spilled onto _his_ face, as he left the man dying in a pool of his own blood.

The steps leading up to the palace was short, doing nothing for _his_ beating heart as excitement coursed through his veins. His men killed left and right, and yet he saw none of that as he opened the doors to the palace…his new _home._

Legionnaires marched with him, some throwing jeers and insults into the men who opposed them, some stabbing into the bodies of those already fallen…and some running forward to surround the man who sat on the throne that was by right… _his._

Legate Lanius sat on the throne, as if he had conquered it…as if it was _his._

"You." He simply said.

Lanius, the helmet that Caesar personally had given him encasing his head, stood up from the throne, walking forward without care as _his_ men parted to make space for the Legate.

"Yes, _Augustus,_ " Lanius said, driving as much disgust as he could muster into saying _his_ name, "it is I."

Augustus sneered at him in contempt, the grip on his sword tightening as he stared into the man's eyes.

"It's over, Lanius. I have won. Surrender, so that this madness may end." He said.

A deep chuckle came from Lanius, the man simply crossing his arms in front of him as he raised his head, as if sneering at Augustus.

"And who are you to stand in front of me to make such demands?" Lanius replied.

Augustus stood straighter, easily towering over Lanius as he grasped the front of the man's armor. "I'm the Legion's savior."

"Funny," Lanius said with a chuckle, "Caesar couldn't see anything of worth in you."

"Caesar was a fool!" Augustus exclaimed, shaking Lanius repeatedly. "IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME BY HIS SIDE! Instead, he chose you and he died while you ran away from the Mojave with your tail between your legs! You're a coward, Lanius!"

Lanius broke free from his grasp, pushing him backwards as he turned to look at every Legionnaire in the throne room.

"And what would all of you have done? March West, leaving our rear exposed? It was a foolish thing to have done."

Augustus sneered at him, his silver eyes boring deep into Lanius' own. "You should've stayed. Kept a foot in the door, instead of running back here with everything you have. You've tarnished the Legion's honor."

"And what of you, Augustus; you'd have no idea of what to do in my shoes."

Augustus smiled at him, his sword raised as he pointed it at Lanius' stomach without resistance, the man opposite of him having already accepted his fate.

"You're going to tear this Legion apart." He said.

"Then let it die, it's been doomed from the start." Augustus began, brushing his silver hair backwards, "And do you know who doomed it? You and Caesar. Your lies were venomous. I shall carve a new empire from the ashes of the Legion; I'll do what you couldn't. I'll take the West, and grant peace to the all."

He thrust his sword forward, and all Lanius could do was bowl over in great pain as he collapsed to the ground. The men that surrounded him drove forward at Augustus' behest, driving their spears and blades into Caesar's right hand man, spilling his blood on the marble floor.

Augustus smiled, turning his back on the dying man as he walked away, looking outwards at Flagstaff from the open doors of the palace.

"VICTORY IS OURS!" he declared.

Despite the thrill of the victory, he had much work to do. And as the blood of Lanius coursed down his arm, only one thought crossed his mind:

 _Soon, Courier…soon._


	9. Ethan Faust

**Capital Wasteland  
Circa 2278**

 _5…_

The sound of safeties being switched off echoed in the air.

 _4…_

"I trust in the steel of my armor, the beams of my rifle; and if my life ends today, I give it to the faithful of my brethren."

 _3…_

He looked to his left, holding the hand of the blond haired woman next to him. She gave him a seductive smile, turning the safety of her rifle off.

 _2…_

He wanted to tell her that he loved her. As she tucked her hair behind her ear, the armored men around them gave mighty growls.

 _1…_

With one last look at her, a smile being shared between them, he stood.

They all stood.

They charged with weapons half empty as they unloaded on the line of slavers in front of them. The long run uphill was difficult, with rockets and grenades exploding around them, sending chunks of dirt and rock into the nooks and crannies of their Power Armor.

'GLORY!' some shouted, Laser Rifles nearly smoking from firing them at the slavers in quick succession.

He idly took note of the men dying left and right from his comrade's lines, but he reveled in the fact that many more of the slavers took serious hit.

One of them, spooked from the last ditch effort of the armored giants, ran away, cowering in fear. He tried to run as fast as his feet could take him, but the bulging stomach he sported prevented him from running too fast.

He, Ethan Faust, mercilessly gunned him down, enjoying the sight of his corpse turning into ash.

'FOR THE BROTHERHOOD!'

' _For the Brotherhood indeed,'_ he thought, baring his teeth as a primal growl came forth from his throat. He trained his rifle on one of them, a panicked expression clearly on the slaver's face. And in an instant, his face disappeared, leaving nothing but a cauterized stump from where his head was previously.

"Hold the line!" He heard the blonde woman scream out, and inwardly, he smiled in pride at the thought that the woman he _loved_ had the ability to bend men's wills as they obeyed the woman without question.

A marvelous roar echoed from the men, just as they neared the defending slavers.

Ethan had been the first to reach them, and in one fluid motion, he shot one slaver in the stomach, blowing a large hole through it before he twister his torso, unsheathing a combat knife from his chest before driving it into the skull of another.

' _For the families you tore apart.'_ He inwardly thought.

He drove his feet into one that had dared to charge him with a Power Fist, and the mechanized leg simply destroyed the man's chest, sending chunks of his heart and lungs into the air.

Around him, his fellow Paladins, barely a small token force now from their charge, slaughtered the slavers in close range. The compound their enemies had holed themselves up in offered little in the way of maneuvering away from the Brotherhood, allowing the men to easily use their Power Armors to outmuscle their enemy.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, shaking his heads lightly as he ducked a swing from a slaver, before driving his mechanized gauntlet into his groin. He had no doubts that the man wouldn't be able to piss or father any children anytime soon.

The man yelped in pain, grasping his bloodied nether regions before his head exploded in a red haze as Ethan drove it straight down into the ground with his boot.

"Faust!" he heard someone yell.

He turned and saw the blonde haired woman, before shooting her one of his widest smiles.

She did not return it.

"Up the satellite! Snipers on the catwalks!" she yelped, pointing to the catwalks above them where several of the slavers were positioning themselves.

He nodded, not looking at her again as charged forward. His fellow Paladins scattered, trying to find whatever cover there was to shield themselves from the sudden onslaught of combined sniper rounds and missiles.

Ethan ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, smashing through a door that he could only assume lead to where the catwalks were. He paid no attention to the two men that had been crushed between a wall and the door he had smashed in, their blood and brains smeared across the floor.

His Laser Rifle had long been discarded, owing to the fact that he no longer had any ammunition. Despite it, he continued his debilitating run through the building, climbing up metal stairs that creaked under the weight of his armor. None could stand to slow him or stop him, his fists and feet doing his work as he smashed slavers aside. Blood had painted nearly the entirety of his hands and feet,

"DIE BROTHERHOOD SCUM!"

He dodged; the missile missing him as he sprinted forward to his would be killer.

"FUCK YOU!" the slaver said, discarding his Missile Launcher as he aimed a Chinese Rifle at him.

The bullets slammed into the different servos and gears of his legs, and he felt it; the piercing pain of a bullet smashing into his thigh. Blood spilled from his armor, painting the area around the wound in his bright red blood.

He shielded his torso and face from the torso of the rifle's bullets.

 _Click_.

He grinned in triumph, his previous pain forgotten as he put his armored hand down, looking at his attacker with a smile.

The man couldn't have been more than 20 years old; a light brown beard adorned his face. But Ethan could care less.

He was old enough to be held accountable for his decisions in life.

The sprint forward was unbelievable slow, the damaged leg of his armor dragging his weight down as he punched the man with full force in the face. His head exploded in a fine red mist, with Ethan grabbing the man's body by the scruff of his clothes, using it as a human meat shield as he stepped onto the platform.

"Look out!" he heard someone from below yell.

Ethan looked past his human shield, and his eyes widened in surprise as every sniper rifle and missile launcher was trained at him.

' _Shit.'_ He inwardly thought, throwing the dead man's body forward just as his opponents let loose their barrage.

BAM!

Missiles and bullets impacted with the body, blowing it into oblivion. The catwalk's suspension cable snapped, causing it to fall into the ground below.

Ethan barely registered his fall, slamming into the ground with such force and speed that a small crater had formed around him. Smoke, moans and screams echoed out, just as the crumbling of stone echoed in the small compound as the satellites collapsed in on the buildings that had supported them.

"Ethan!" he heard someone yell out, and as his eyes fluttered open, he barely recognized the clean face of Sarah. Sarah Lyons. His love…his passion.

She dragged him out of the crater, the satellites crumbling down into the ground, bathing them in grey dust and smoke.

The area was quite then.

It was peaceful.

He lay there, broken, bleeding. His ribs and leg had snapped in the fall; not even the alloy of his Power Armor could do anything to protect him from the tremendous height he had quickly descended. Some parts of his armor were mangled; twisted and bent in ways that made it unrecognizable.

He felt like he was dying.

And as he did, she sat there, staring at him with a loving smile. Their fellow brethren cheered with their come-from-behind victory, raising their rifles and hands in the air in triumph. There must not have been more than six of them there, sharing the victory with them.

All that remained of the Lyon's pride.

Ethan stared at her face as well, dirt marring the beauty and splendor of her face. He could not find his voice, he could not tell her his feelings. He simply held her hand close to his chest, his breath ragged and failing.

And like the short winter every Christmas, it happened.

He should have been more focused on ensuring that their enemies had died; that none had survived the battle. He should have been a better soldier; a better lover…brother. He should have been.

BANG!

A bullet pierced her. And the woman Ethan Faust,

The Vault Dweller.

Brotherhood of Steel Star Paladin.

Savior of the Wastes.

The woman he loved...had died.

His fellow brethren responded to their leader's killer in earnest, unleashing a fury of ammunition and laser beams into the man's corpse, even shooting it long after his death.

As her body fell forward, Ethan could not help but catch it with tears in his eyes, still unable to stand from the broken and mangled bones of his body.

It was that day…that day that he truly did become the Lone Wanderer.

* * *

 **A/N:** I would just like to say that I'll be moving the timelines for certain events in this story. For example: Elder Arthur Maxson didn't really become the leader of the East Coast Brotherhood until 2283. Here, he is an Elder in 2282. Just thought I'd let you guys know! As always, review, share, and favorite if you can!


	10. Repeating History

**Flagstaff, Caesar's Legion  
August 15, 2282**

The fires had subsided, that much the people of Flagstaff were sure of. Those that did not resist the usurper's march into the late Caesar's capital watched in defeat as the betrayers walked down the main street, ascending the steps to the palace with their bright red capes sweeping the dirt in a smooth kiss. They walked with purpose, ignoring the points and the vindictive stares of those who remained loyal to the old regime. None would dare openly act out in aggression, resorting to harmless glares as their main form of protest.

And yet, all knew that their actions were futile. Less than a year since their defeat at Hoover Dam, Civil War had broken out, with endless fighting between Caesar's Legates on who should ascend to take the title of _Imperator._

Legate Lanius returned from the Dam, with the rest of his remaining cohorts. None of the Legates accepted him, and acted out in open aggression.

Augustus rose amongst them, slaughtering those who opposed his might. From Phoenix to Denver, Legates swore allegiance to him, accepting him as the new _Imperator._ And finally, before July had ended, they marched towards Flagstaff, and every single one of Lanius' Loyalists from Bullhead City, Prescott and Widow Rock burnt in ash and fire from Augustus' relentless march.

All roads led to Flagstaff, where the last of the Loyalists stood; waiting in vain for reinforcements that would never come from Utah.

It was all slaughter, and Augustus took the throne. He declared himself the new _Imperator_ , and it was the first time in the Legion's history where crucified carcasses were proudly displayed in the Capital.

While most publicly swore allegiance to their new leader, many more secretly despised him, viewing him as nothing more than a dishonorable - The Usurper as he was named.

But still, his men marched unopposed, their helms crafted in the image of the various gods hiding their faces.

And yet, hidden as their identities were, everyone could name them one by one: Maximus, Mehrunes, Nichomedes, Sextus, Aquila, Boniface, and Commodus; the Swords of Augustus as they had been known.

Maximus was the new _Imperator's_ brother, fierce in battle whose role was easily comparable to Malpais Legate, the first Legate of Caesar. He was as ruthless as Lanius, and yet tactically gifted as he led his _cohort_ into victories against Cassius, the dog of the South, Lanius' right hand man. Mehrunes and Nichomedes were the twins of the East, children of the leaders of the Proudfoot tribe. None had much to complain about the two, aside from their inability to control their thirst for battle- and their inability to bed whores and captured slaves.

Sextus, Aquila and Commodus, were the most political of the seven, maneuvering themselves into a position to support anyone who had the highest chance of victory.

One could say their allegiance could be compared to a thin string. Easily broken, easily replaced.

It was Boniface that had ambitions truly as great as Augustus himself, and many believed that it was simply his lack of a large enough fighting force to strike against the combined _cohorts_ of Augustus' men that prevented him from taking the throne for himself.

Currently, he held his tongue as they marched into the Palace, guided by Augustus' Praetorian Guard to a large room, a map displaying the lands of Nevada, Utah, Southern California, and Arizona was proudly spread out on a table at the center.

The new _Imperator_ sat at the head, watching with focused eyes as his Legates entered. They formed a line in front of the table, bowing deeply.

"Augustus." They said in chorus.

Augustus stood from his seat, unclipping his cape as he moved around the table. He motioned for the guards to close all doors, a command they followed quickly. Soon, all that was left in the room were Augustus and the Legates.

"My friends," Augustus began, "It is a truly sweet victory we have achieved here in Flagstaff."

He opened his arms wide, capturing his brother Maximus' in an embrace.

Augustus turned to the map, pointing at it with a finger.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed our victory against our foes, but take heed; there are greater matters we must tend to!"

The other Legates moved around the table, with Maximus and the bearded Sextus standing beside him.

Small blue flags, denoting the known positions of the NCR were pinned into the map along the old California-Arizona border, the current boundary between the Legion and the NCR. Red flags dotted the Legion side of the line, and it was painfully obvious that they were far fewer in number compared to the blues of the NCR.

"As you can see," Augustus began, "The current state of our Legion is dire."

"Yes," Commodus said in agreement, rubbing his chin. "Since the beginning of our uprising, more than 23 _cohorts_ protecting our border with the Bear have been pulled eastwards, to bolster our forces in the attack on the remaining cities of the Loyalists."

"Leaving our west ripe for the taking." Maximus observed.

"Indeed." Augustus replied. He pulled out a paper from underneath his armor, letting the Legates see it. "A rider in the night," he said, "Legate Marius' _cohorts_ are being battered by several tribes in Texas. Sending no reinforcements could mean the fall of New Mexico to these _savages._ "

Nichomedes stepped forward, and all eyes turned to him as he bravely declared: "Then send me, _Imperator,_ and I shall show these degenerates the might of our Legion!"

His brother clapped him on the back, raising a fist as he declared that he too would like the same.

No one had bothered to hold them back, knowing full well the fury the brothers could unleash. They held the largest _cohorts_ in Augustus' new army, and none could question their martial prowess.

Augustus raised a hand, calming the two. "No," he simply said, "I have need of your _cohorts_ in the west."

"What for?" Sextus asked, crossing his hands above his chest.

Augustus remained silent, and the other Legates watched as he walked around the room slowly.

"When the late and mighty Caesar sent me to... _absorb_ tribes in the East, I came upon an old base…a bunker in the same likeness as the one in Fortification Hill which put our expedition into the Mojave into an untimely end."

Maximus squirmed where he stood, steeling himself from the reactions of his fellow Legates, knowing what his brother was about to say.

"My first thought was to…destroy this place. Knowing what evils it had once unleashed upon the world, I could not allow it to interfere with the destiny of the Legion. I could not allow it to live."

Augustus had stopped walking, turning around to face his Legates. His armor glinted under the low light of the room, as his mighty sword clanked beside his thigh.

"But then I thought, 'why should we destroy it? Shouldn't the Legion use this to unleash its powers _against_ its enemies?'"

"My liege, you could not be saying tha-" Commodus tried.

"Yes! I saved that lair, Commodus. I kept it under lock and key, hoping for one day when the Legion would be prepared to use its powers."

He raised his hands into the air. "And the time is now!"

The Legates burst into debates amongst themselves, with Nichomedes, Mehrunes, and Commodus being vehemently against the idea while the rest agreed with Augustus wholeheartedly.

Maximus could understand them, knowing well how the tribes that some of these men had once come from, and indeed, the Legion itself, prided strength over technological advancement greater than anything. They put much value into the strength of the body and mind compared to the abilities of their weapons. It was why Pit Fights involved more fists than anything; only few liked fighting with anything more.

And now, his brother was breaching a topic that few liked to talk about; the Legion's use of technology.

"Surely, you don't mean to use those vile things?" Commodus incredulously asked.

"And why not?" Maximus said in defense of his brother. "Our enemies from the Mojave have shown the lengths they would go to; to defeat us. Riding birds and sending their bombs from above! We stood no chance!"

"So you wish to sacrifice our integrity…our HONOR for war?" Commodus asked.

"And would you, Commodus, wish for our people to stand defeated in the face of such overwhelming odds?" Augustus asked, "We may have all the strength in the world, and yet we shall not be able to do anything with it if our enemies can strike from above!"

"Augustus you can't do this!" Commodus begged him, his eyes as wide as saucers. "The Legion has never depended on technology before, why should it now?"

"BECAUSE OUR ENEMIES ARE STRONGER!"

The silence in the room was deafening, as no one moved nor made a sound at the proclamation of the new _Imperator._ Augustus breathed slowly, his nostrils flared as he took in the serious looks upon the faces of his Legates.

"Even now, our enemies grow stronger than before." He began, "The NCR has saw it fit to strike at New Vegas in the hopes of invading it. And what did they achieve? Nothing, for 'planes' fell from the sky to ferry the defenders to safe locations as New Vegas' true strength came to light."

"Those could have been anything, my liege." Commodus reasoned.

"Oh?" Augustus challenged, "Then explain why those same planes and men dressed in black patrol the Mojave to this day armed with weapons we haven't seen nor heard of before. Not even during the Old World's prime did such technology exist."

When none could answer, he continued.

"The fact, my friends, is that they have grown strong; they have built bows and arrows that we have yet to dream of, and they're using it." He started pacing around the room, clasping his hands in front him as he stared down into the ground. "It is no secret that _our_ Legion has a thirst to conquer the west; to put those of New Vegas to the sword, and eventually, those of the NCR as well."

He stopped, standing in between Sextus and his brother once more as he looked to the Legates. "But can we do it?" he asked. "While our enemies let loose their hounds, we have nothing to fight back but small guns and swords. We'd be slaughtered."

"We have our numbers, we'd be able to run them over before they-"

"But we don't have men, do we Commodus?" Augustus asked, his eyebrows knitted together.

Commodus opened and closed his mouth several times, before he shook his head. "No."

"And that then is the problem. We have enough men to defend, but we don't have enough to conquer…at least, not as we are. From where I stand, I see an army stronger than any on this Earth, armed with weapons that would make the enemies of the Legion kneel at the sight of our army! We only need to…take it."

"But it's been our-"

"Tradition, Mehrunes? Traditions change."

No one else spoke, although Nichomedes and Mehrunes were trembling in range.

"Are there any of you who wish to speak?" Augustus asked with a hint of a threat in his voice. When none said anything, he smiled.

"Good. Mehrunes, Nichomedes, you and your _cohorts_ shall move west. From Bullhead City downwards, you shall protect the Legion from the NCR. Sextus and Aquila, you shall remain here in Flagstaff. I shall be personally pulling out our _cohorts_ from Utah to-"

"We're retreating?" Sextus asked, surprised.

"The Legion has bitten more than it can chew. The tribes that have sworn allegiance to us can handle Utah. Our most loyal shall go to you two." Augustus said, and Sextus nodded in understanding. "Boniface, Commodus, you shall bolster Legate Marius' troops."

"With how many Legionnaires I have left, I have no doubt that we'd last as long as Marius did." Boniface said, crossing his arms in thinly veiled annoyance.

"You won't have to last that long, Boniface, Commodus. Maximus," Augustus said, turning to his brother, "you shall head to Colorado, to where we found this place. Your cohorts shall then march south to aid Commodus and his men."

Maximus nodded, just as Commodus hissed in annoyance at Augustus.

"I presume that there aren't any further questions?" Augustus asked with a smile. When no one spoke, he simply said 'dismissed,' and his men left to do his bidding.

As the room emptied, Augustus, the new leader of the Legion, the new _Imperator_ , sat on his chair. The pieces to the chess game he had been playing by himself earlier had gone cold as he moved a pawn forward, intently gazing at it as he silently whispered: "You're move, Courier."

* * *

 **Grand Island, Nebraska  
August 15, 2282**

"Ten-thousand Caps."

"Deal."

"We'll pay you five-thousand now, and five-thousand more when you get the package to the destination."

"Alright."

He nibbled the end of the cigarette between his lips, letting small puffs of smoke escape his lips as the man in front of him set a large bag full of caps on the table. He raised the glass of whiskey in his hands, clanking glasses with the man as he drank it all down.

The bag of caps was quickly inserted into the pocket of his trench coat, delighted at the weight of it.

"What's the package?" he asked.

The man looked outside of the bar, through the stained windows as he motioned for someone outside to get in. It did not take long, as a man entered alongside a cloaked woman whose hood covered her head. The man tipped his head, taking off his fedora as he allowed the woman to graciously take a seat.

"You're kidding me?" He asked. "The girl's the package?"

The two men nodded, who both clasped their hands together as they looked at him seriously.

"She is."

"Is there a problem?"

He shook his head no, taking a last puff out of his cigarette before crushing the remains into an ashtray. "Just cautious. Deals like this usually involve special items; just objects. When the package's is a human, I can't help but say that this would be smuggling."

The two men simply raised an eyebrow at him, before standing up from their respective seats.

"Mr. Faust, we hired you because of your exemplary record in finishing your jobs thoroughly. We expect you to finish this one as well, or there'll be dire consequences."

With that, the two men left the bar, tipping both of their hats in farewell to Ethan and the cloaked woman beside him.

He turned to look at her, taking in the pink lips and aristocratic jawline that he could just make out from under the raised hood.

"So, care to tell me about yourself?" he asked.

He received no reply.

"Alright, silent treatment then."

He pulled out a cigarette, nibbling it in between his lips as he stood up. "Come on then." He said, lighting and taking a puff from the stick in his lips.

The woman made no effort to move, sitting silently still on her seat.

Ethan grew annoyed, slamming his fist down on the table.

The people around the bar turned their heads to look at the commotion, casting curious looks at the two. Ethan did not mind this, instead grabbing the woman lightly by her arm before dragging her outside.

"Listen," he began, "I don't care who you are, what you do or why I have to walk a thousand miles to get you to Chicago. But you _will_ listen to me when I tell you to, got it?"

He did not receive a response, and Ethan gripped her by her shoulders in annoyance, shaking her as the hood the woman fell from her face revealing a mop of well-kept blonde hair and the most striking pair of blue eyes he had ever seen in a face with such distinct aristocratic features as hers.

She stared up at her, pushing him away as she forcefully replied "Yes."

Ethan watched her walk away, breathing in the cold air as he walked ahead, brushing past her as she pulled her hood up again, and hiding her face.

* * *

 **The Strip, Independent State of New Vegas  
December 14, 2282**

If Christmas was still celebrated, Philon had no doubt that he couldn't wish for anything more as he sat silently in the Lucky 38's Penthouse, looking down on the great view that was The Strip and Freeside. Whereas before, the area of Freeside was blanketed in an inky expanse of black, nowadays it was bathed in bright lights. Streets were illuminated, many of the casinos' (both new and old) neon lighting were now working, and most of the wandering homeless people had been cleaned up, put into free housings that they had set up.

It looked good, in short.

They had cleaned the debris from the streets, even that damned bus that divided Freeside, and demolished any dilapidated building that they could find. They had removed the large walls that surrounded The Strip and Freeside made from scrap metal, instead creating a _proper_ wall made from cement they had scrounged up from the Quarry Junction (at least, the area not cordoned off by the army).

They had stuck to the old aesthetics, choosing to use 'classic' designs instead of the designs the UNSC had provided them (they did use their safety standards though). The result was a _beautiful_ city, which combined the efforts from all the new sectors of the country into making New Vegas a city that most other States would be envious of. Trees, the likes of which none in the Mojave had ever seen before, were planted along wide sidewalks and center isles, with small bushes of green covering their bases.

Some of the more brainy locals had started flower shops; taking full advantage of the seeds the former NCR owned Sharecropper Farms had begun selling. Others in faraway places began their own farms, selling or supplying the various new Supply Shops that had suddenly burst into existence around the wastes.

The recent development of New Vegas City (The Strip, Freeside) didn't mean that they ignored the other towns and cities out there. Far from it.

The people of the 188 Trading Post had seen a renewed influx of individuals passing through Highway 95, mostly people transporting items for recycling from Boulder City and the REPCONN HQ. In light of the sudden increase in profits, they had constructed several buildings around the area in the likeness of old the Gas Stations that dotted the wastes. It was the hub of trade in the country, as many called it, where many up and coming entrepreneur travelled to in the hopes of making a profit from the ludicrous exchange of goods, supplies and good food. Ghouls and humans alike traded with each other, using the new local currency: the _Novus_. A name that the local Latin speaker (Dr. Arcade Gannon) himself suggested.

Primm had shed its 'poor man's' New Vegas identity, becoming a legitimate town with houses being built from across the overpass of I-15, where an NCR outpost had once been. The old Bison Steve Hotel had been renovated, turning it into a Town Hall and a station for the Sherriff (a job taken from Primm Slim over by a man from Portland) and his Deputies, with Goodsprings being under their jurisdiction as well necessitating the increase in the number of officers.

Goodsprings itself had grown, with most of the unoccupied buildings in the small town being fixed by the former slaves of Caesar's Legion placed in the Nevada side of the Colorado River after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.

The area around the former NCR Correctional Facility, which had been the Jail that had been bombed alongside McCarran, had been cleared with a new Facility being established with slow progress.

Sloan ceased to exist, with most of its inhabitants moving south towards Goodsprings. A small facility was established for producing cement on the side of the Quarry Junction that hadn't been locked down by the military.

Boulder City was slowly turning into a vibrant community, with most of the debris being cleaned up. The NCR Monument there had been kept out of respect for the men who died in the First Battle of Hoover Dam; the men many believed had kept Caesar's nefarious hands out of New Vegas.

Novac meanwhile stayed the same, except for the far cleaner streets and safer environment.

The rest of the wasteland had yet to see the improvements, such as the general area around Camp Searchlight and the western part of the country, where a more peaceful Great Khans and the quite town of Jacobstown resided.

In all, it was a time of peace and improvement in New Vegas.

The army itself had grown to become 10,000 strong, with the added few thousands from the Securitrons. Armed with standard issue MA37's and the UNSC's older version of their infantry armor (which had been based on advanced Kevlar weaves that were easy enough to produce thanks to the new equipment they have).

Black by design, the armor wasn't really that much different from the Ballistic Weaves found in some armor in the wastes. It was a stronger weave, that much was certain, capable of stopping a .50 (although it did not have absorbers to take the brunt of the kinetic transfer from the bullet). Aside from the main armor protecting the torso, the other variants of the armor featured shoulder, thigh, knee, shin and arm padding. Out of a need for basic energy weapons shielding, they had chosen to use the shoulder, knee, shin and arm components of the Battle Armor from the old U.S. Army (heavily redesigning the aesthetic appeal of course), making it a standard to wear those components alongside the new armor. These components were painted black as well, with a helmet designed by Arcade himself using the philosophies preached by the UNSC on armor making.

The helmet covered most of the lower cheek and the jawline, the two sides of the facial guard being connected at the wearer's chin. It covered most of the forehead and ears, with a clear (or black) eye guard hiding and protecting the wearer's eyes.

Hundreds of New Vegas' troops patrolled around the Mojave wearing this, and it wasn't much of a stretch to say that the recent lack of any raider or drug dealer presence was due to the newly improved army.

The new MA37 Rifles, which fortunately enough fired 7.62mm rounds, was _the_ most advanced ballistics based weapon anyone in the Mojave had ever touched. The ammo counter itself was already advancement in technology, allowing its user to be fully conscious on the amount rounds he had left.

Currently, several other weapons from the UNSC were still being closely examined; chief among them was the SRS99C, the M392, and the M6C.

All of that effort though, of improving everything, would be useless if they did not find a source for new resources. Even now they were rationing what they had; there was only so much they could put into recycling plants.

Which made the UNSC's offer even more alluring; a plan to head northwards into greater Nevada, to expand New Vegas' borders by extending into Pioche, leaving Goldfield independent to act as a buffer between the NCR held territories of Tonopah. From there, they head east into Utah to take everything between Zion and Cedar City for its resource rich lands, effectively expanding the borders New Vegas had with the Legion.

From St. George, Zion and Parowan, a new province for New Vegas would emerge.

Or, at least, that was what the UNSC wanted-slash-suggested anyway.

He didn't want to force the tribes that lived on those lands to become part of New Vegas; he didn't want New Vegas to be the NCR. He doubted anyone did; most people just wanted to live their lives free from the effects of war, while having the tools to wage it. Annexing parts of Northern Nevada wasn't much of a problem; most everyone there gravitated towards New Vegas anyway. It was the reaction from the NCR he was worried about. They might overreact to an 'enemy's' closeness to one of their cities; New Reno.

But, they needed those resources. The supposed mineral deposits in Nevada was readily available, and yet to even build a half of the types of weapons, vehicles, armors, buildings and be able to trade with their neighbors, they needed those resources. He certainly wouldn't mind invading Arizona and the Legion directly, but he didn't have an army. Yet at least.

That and he didn't want to take care of people that didn't want their rule.

He simply wanted what was best for New Vegas, and for the most part, he had achieved it. And he couldn't really make such a decision for his people.

Not until they had the elections anyway.

* * *

A/N:

DeathstrokeNorris-  
1.) They had the luxury of over a Billion more humans living. Would their thought process be the same with this humanity? I just think it natural to be cautious with dealing with others when you have an uncertainty as big as not knowing if you can make it back to your own universe.

2.) Kat from Reach has a mechanical arm, so does Eddie Underwood in Halo: Cole Protocol, or some dude named De Guzman in the Halo Reach ad about Carter's augmentation. I doubt warships aside from Medical Ships would be equipped with such technologies for medicinal purposes.

3.) Most of the UNSC's equipment from vehicles and ships are, indeed, made from Titanium-A.

Just those. In Halo 4, the current continuity as far as I know, Marines Armors took a stupid hit from 343i. They lost the plates they used extensively in CE, 2, and 3. In 4, they're using basic Kevlar Armors as is stated in the official wikia with a shock absorbing gel layer underneath the initial Kevlar weave. Very similar to the ones worn by CAMS students in the Forward Unto Dawn series.

To make it realistic, it is _that_ same armor that the NVA shall be using. Because honestly, the Marines should have upgraded their armors, not downgraded after the war.

And in terms of the UNSC using non-gunpowder propellants; I agree. Although it hasn't been explicitly stated in canon on just what they use in their bullets anyway, it could be other chemicals _or_ gunpowder just the same. I'm basing this UNSC's continued use of gunpowder from 'The Science of Halo' video on youtube, which Frank O'Connor from Bungie featured in with him saying something along the lines of the 'UNSC using weapons with gunpowder' (not exact words).

Anyway, thank you for reviewing and taking an interest in my story!


	11. Who Are You?

**August 16, 2282  
I-80 Heading East, Nebraska**

Not a word was shared between them, and Ethan liked it that way. They had walked for nearly a day, with frequent stops due to his package's 'tender' feet. Fuck the feet. Her feet was always sore, and she acted like a stuck up bitch all the way to Lincoln, where the plan was to follow I-80 all the way to Illinois before taking I-50 north to Chicago. If the road east still existed that was.

The map he nicked from Jefferson Memorial of the old U.S.A. showed where the roads were supposed to be, and it served him well so far. It was still pretty accurate, allowing him to take the Interstates all the way from D.C. to Oklahoma, where the most intense Radstorms were (alongside tornadoes or 'Fingers of God' as many called them). They basically ran him out of Oklahoma and into Nebraska hoping things there were much better.

They really weren't, but he couldn't be picky. The storms tended to like the southern regions, just past I-80. He couldn't come up with a scientific for why that was, but there it was. Colorado had milder storms from what he heard, though he didn't bother going there; he didn't want to know how many slavers he'd kill.

Despite being August, there were thankfully no Radstorms or Tornadoes in their path, and it was easy walking towards Lincoln.

His cargo was the only thing dragging him down, honestly.

"Stop, stop!"

Right on cue.

"What is it now?" he said in annoyance, turning back to look at the woman. She had long since drawn back her hood since the beginning of their journey, showing the pained expression on her face as she knelt down to gently massage her foot.

"Oh come on, it's been less than 30 minutes since our last break Princess. At this rate we'll get to Chicago by next year!" he exclaimed.

The woman looked murderously at him, removing the bag on her back as she sat herself down, her back leaning into a door of a dilapidated car.

"I have a name, Faust." She said.

Ethan raised a curious eyebrow at her, plopping himself down across from her.

"I tried being nice back in Grand Island. You shoved _me_ off as far as I could remember!" he said.

She pursed her lips, throwing her hair backwards as she took deep breaths to calm herself down. There was silence afterwards, and no one broke the peace as Ethan drank from the water bottle he had brought with them conservatively, wishing to preserve it until they could reach Lincoln to restock.

"It's Alexia."

Ethan turned his head towards her, to find her looking at him through one barely opened eye.

"My name's Alexia."

He smiled at her, scooting closer to her as he offered his hand for her to shake. "Ethan Faust."

They shook hands, before Ethan broke away and stood up.

"I really don't mean to be rude, but we have to move."

"My…my feet hurt." Alexia replied.

Ethan sighed, crouching down as he positioned himself at the bottom of Alexia's feet.

"Let me see." He said.

She raised the pant legs that covered the boots she unlaced soon after. As she removed the pair, Ethan could not help but take note of the obviously smooth skin he could see. She raised her feet up casually; as if she had done this before, letting Ethan take a look at the bottom of the foot.

Her feet were red, indicating at least that she was just sore from all the walking, and had incurred no injuries. He touched her feet, placing them in between his hands as he looked up to the neutral expression on her face.

"Does touching it hurt?" He asked.

She shook her head no.

"Good, then it's not the skin that's the problem. You're just sore from the walking. I guess this is the first you've ever walked this far huh?" He jokingly asked, not expecting her to return a reluctant nod.

He frowned, not sure how someone like her could exist in a harsh environment such as where they were in, where survival was the only motive anyone ever had every day. She could have been a coddled child, or some sort of deity to the many beauty worshipping tribes that existed around Nebraska. He might never know, but one thing was sure; she was soft.

Much like he was when he left the safety of Vault 101.

"Well, I planned to get us halfway to Lincoln an hour or two after dark." He said, letting her put her boots back on. "But I guess you're not going to be able to walk any further if you have sores."

He stood up, putting his hand out to her, propping her to her feet as soon as she took it. "There's a Gas Station a few minutes away from here. I guess you'd want to rest."

She nodded gratefully, the unsure smile she sent his way not quite reaching her eyes as Ethan turned his back on her.

"Let's go then."

The walk to the gas station took no less than 15 minutes, where they settled into soon after their arrival. The sun was in the final stages of setting, painting the unusually clear sky and the clouds in a bright orange glow.

"Beautiful," was the word Alexia used to describe it, and Ethan agreed with her wholeheartedly. They had set their Bed Rolls on the floor of the Convenience Store next to the Gas Pumps of the station, eating the packs Caravan Lunch they had purchased in Grand Island. The assorted quantity of food inside the lunchbox had yet again delivered on its promise of a satisfying meal for Ethan, yet his happiness in the meal had not seemed to be infectious as he looked at Alexia barely eat hers.

"What's wrong?" he asked, right as he took a bite out of his Cram meat.

"Nothing." She replied quietly, although the grumble of her stomach only indicated that she was hungry still, and the food did nothing to placate her hunger.

Ethan stopped nibbling on his meal, slowing his chewing to a crawl as realization struck him.

"You don't like the food don't you?"

She shyly shook her head no, tightening her cloak around her.

Ethan sighed; at least part of his suspicion was true; this was a woman used to living a higher form of living.

"You're hungry. You need the food."

"I don't like it."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, chugging down the food in his mouth.

"I was…like you once." He said, trying to find a way to connect with her problem.

"You?" she asked disbelievingly, looking at him from head to toe in doubt.

' _Bitch._ ' Ethan quietly thought, crossing his arms above his chest in mild annoyance.

"Yes, I was." He nonetheless continued. "I was a Vault Dweller. Back in D.C. When I first got out, I didn't expect the food to be like… _this._ " He said, lifting the can of Cram up. "Everything tastes metallic, like is was doused in radiation or something. In fact, the only good thing I've tasted so far is Brahmin meat."

At the mention of the meat, Ethan could see the hints of salivation on the edges of Alexia's mouth, the grumbling of her stomach getting more frequent and louder.

He chuckled lightly, spooning a piece of the meat in the Cram can into his mouth. "You just have to live through it for now. We have long days ahead of us; it's not like we can pack Brahmin meat and expect it to be fresh after _days._ "

Well, that wasn't true.

"Yes we could."

And apparently, she knew too.

"Okay, okay. We could. But it'll slow us down. We're trying to get to Chicago fast, before Winter. Or else it'll be hard to walk through inches of snow wouldn't it?" he said, giving her a look of challenge.

She breathed in and out slowly, pursing her lips as she grabbed the can of Pork and Beans, taking a spoonful of it into her mouth.

The shudder that coursed through her body was funny to watch, as Ethan tried not to laugh at the half-coughing, half-choking motions the woman had suddenly done. He patted her on the back, lightly holding her hair back as she vomited the food back out.

' _What a waste.'_ Ethan thought in sadness, _'Guess I'll have to move my roll someplace else too.'_

"Oh my, forgive me! I'm sorry!" She said in humiliation and fear, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, before turning to look with concerned eyes up at Ethan.

"It's…alright I guess? You'll get used to it." Ethan said.

' _Well, not anytime soon at least. Food here's a bitch to swallow.'_

"You good?" He asked.

"Y-yes. Thank you." She said shyly, avoiding his eyes as she pushed the can of Pork and Beans away. "I think it's best that I just sleep."

Ethan nodded, not bothering to fight with her. Her own hunger tomorrow would make the food taste better anyway; best not to pressure her into it. As she lay down, he moved his Bedroll closer to the door, before cleaning her vomit from the floor as she watched with tired eyes.

"What's in Chicago?" she asked.

"You mean you don't know where you're being sent to?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "I thought that they'd have told you at least."

She closed her eyes, turning over to deny him a look at her face. "They didn't."

It was obvious she was crying from the soft sniffs he could hear from her form. He didn't know what to do, not having encountered such behavior from anyone before.

Well, not anyone he'd be spending a lot of time with anyway. Everyone else who had cried in front of him were either former slaves he freed or the slavers he personally castrated and-or shot a bullet up their assholes. Fun times.

Those instances were easy to deal with; now though was an entirely new experience for him.

As he placed aside the piece of thick paper he had found to wiper off the vomit from the floor, her silent crying had only grown louder; far too loud for one even as cold hearted as Ethan was at times could ignore.

So he simple sat down on his bedroll, watching her slightly shaking form as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"Hey," he said softly, "whatever it is, whatever's going on with you, it'll be okay."

Her crying did not cease, nor did she respond to him or make any movement to indicate that she had heard him.

But he continued still.

"We got off on the wrong foot, but I think you're an okay girl." He said, before mentally slapping himself at what he had just said. "I mean, I mean you're cool. Yeah you're cool." He said, scratching the back of his neck. He coughed lightly to remove some of the awkwardness, and watched in happiness as Alexia's shaking had nearly stopped, the silence between them only breaking with soft sniffs from her part.

"I'll tell you what," he began, "why don't I tell you a little about Chicago?"

"…go on." Her soft reply was.

Ethan smiled, glad that he was making progress at calming the girl down.

"Well, Chicago's pretty cold, and windy. Not much to take shelter in, considering it's one of the most heavily irradiated areas after the bombs fell." He said.

"Go on."

Ethan scrunched up his face in thought, laying down on his back as he gazed at the ceiling of the store.

"The Brotherhood of Steel runs the place,"

"The Brotherhood?!" Alexia suddenly exclaimed, though she had not moved from her position.

"Yeah?" Ethan replied, "Why? You sound concerned."

"They," she began, "they haven't been kind to my people."

Ethan nodded, knowing that she couldn't see her. There was a hint of fear and trepidation in her voice, which could only possibly mean that she truly did fear the Brotherhood.

"Do you mind if I ask why not?" he said, propping himself on his elbows as he awaited her response.

"No." she simply replied, causing Ethan to lie back down on the ground. "But please, tell me more."

"Alright. I know that the Brotherhood there's pretty advanced, and very much unlike the Brotherhood in the Capital of in the Mojave and California. Ghouls, Deathclaws, Super Mutants; they're all accepted."

She did not reply, so he kept talking.

"I haven't been there personally, and all I know is from talking with Caravan owners coming into Nebraska from Boston, who made a pass into Chicago for a reprieve from raiders and gangs. It's pretty peaceful there from what I hear."

"Do you think they'd notice me?" She asked him.

"I don't think so," Ethan replied, turning to look at her back. "Unless you did something really stupid to anger them."

There was no reply to come from her for the rest of the night, not even when Ethan had asked her if she wanted to hear more of what he knew about Chicago. Silence was the only sound both could hear as they quietly drifted into sleep. One dreamed of peace and safety, while the other dreamed again of a certain death.

* * *

 **Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Colorado  
November 14, 2282**

It was cold, far colder than Maximus was used to; far colder than any of his Legionnaires were used to honestly. As such, the sight of many burning torches around the Legate's camp wasn't that unusual to see. Snow lightly fell from the sky, coating tents and the ground with a thin inch of it, making it difficult to traverse the area.

Nonetheless, the Legionnaires were prepared for anything, their discipline too great to overcome as they held their defensive positions without much complaint despite the cold.

Currently, Maximus had treated himself into a hot bath, submerging himself into the hot waters as he let his men scour the mountain side in search of the entrance to the base he and his brother had found long ago. He didn't even know what took them so long, as the path to it was pretty straightforward. His slaves took care of whatever 'washing' he needed done; even he could act in a disgusting manner like Mehrunes or Nichomedes every once and a while.

All around his bathe, the slaves stood in various states of undress. He had no doubt that they were cold, judging by how their…skin reacted to the Colorado air. Some were new to him, and some were not; he did not take a personal slave like most others do, preferring instead to choose from the local livestock, which was plenty in Denver.

He stood up from his bathe, exiting it as the women around him wiped him dry, not allowing him to go nude in the Colorado air for long as they brought him his robes; the standard clothing for the Legion in cold temperatures. They clothed his upper body in the red fabric, before doing the same for his legs.

"Be careful with that you disgusting creature." He intoned, snatching away his armor from the hands a slave that had nearly dropped it.

"Leave me." He told them as soon as he was clothed, his outfit complete with the matte black of his armor.

His slaves ran out of his tent, dressed in nothing but thin fabrics. Knowing his own men, he did not have to doubt that they would soon be having their way with the _profligates._

Much time had passed before Maximus thought it prudent to check up on the process of his men before a _Cursor_ , a messenger, entered his tent.

" _Ave_ , Legate Maximus." He said, showing off a crisp salute.

" _Ave_ , _Cursor._ What news do you have?" he asked, taking a seat beside his work table.

"Centurion Aerys reports that the facility has been found." The messenger said, as faint lines of water began to trail down his head from the small patches of on his brown hair. "He says they are ready to receive you, Legate."

Maximus nodded, standing up. "Alright. Head to _Decanus_ Rhaegar, and have him fetch me; prepared to take a journey to the facility. You shall be our guide, _Cursor._ "

"At once, Legate! _Salve!"_

" _Salve!"_

It did not take long for the _Decanus_ to come, with a group of ten Legionnaires behind him, ready to escort him to the entrance of the Complex. The long walk barely bothered anyone, and neither did the cold air or snow. The anticipation of finding technology had hardened them to the weather, and although it sounded sacrilegious for many including most of the men guarding the Legate, their wish to see the Legion succeed was greater than their desire to follow their long held beliefs.

Soon, they passed the couple of hundred men that Centurion Aerys had brought with him on the expedition, the banner of the Legion proudly displayed in the makeshift camp they had made just at the mouth of a tunnel.

The words 'CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN COMPLEX' were proudly displayed, and Maximus drank the sight in, already knowing what he would find inside.

" _Ave,_ Legate."

He turned his head, seeing the saluting form of Aerys, a salute he returned quickly. "Centurion." He intoned. "I see you've been busy."

"And I hear you've locked yourself up with your _whores._ " The dark skinned man replied cheekily.

Maximus lightly chuckled, turning his back on him to gaze at the dark tunnel ahead of them.

"Exciting isn't it?" Maximus asked.

Aerys moved to stand beside him, crossing his arms over his chest as he too, gazed intently into the dark.

"I fear more for what we might unleash into the world."

Maximus knitted his eyebrows together, grasping his friend by the shoulder. "I already know what we'll find inside, Aerys. Soon, it'll be _them_ that would fear _us._ "

Aerys, still unsure and a little bit daunted from the task that was seemingly laid out in front of him, gestured for the Legate to walk with him into the tunnel.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Maximus nodded with a smile, and they walked in, followed by both of their personal guard. The tunnel was dark, needing the aid of a Legionnaire to run ahead of them, to light their way. The tunnel had long since collapsed in on itself, leaving only little pathways the Legionnaires could squeeze through to reach the end, where their ultimate prize lay.

Aerys had not bothered to ask what was there, holding only disinterest and concern for whatever the Legion might become because of these… _findings._

Soon, their troop had come to a halt at Maximus' order, and Aerys could see a happy smile adorn his friend's face. They had reached the entrance, where various automatons, seemingly dead, lay around in the open.

"Aerys, have a _Vexillarius_ plant the banner of the Legion outside the tunnel entrance, and send a runner the _Imperator_ , tell him that we've found it and shall be marching south in a few days' time." He commanded, a smile still on his face as he knelt down, grabbing a black and burnt piece of metal that had obviously once been part of an intact Vault Door long ago.

He wiped the top of it, removing the soot and dust that had gathered on it in the years since this place's discovery.

Yellow numbers stared back at him, and Maximus felt a thrill course up his spine at the thought of what the Legion could achieve with this.

The number read:

 _0_

 _Vault 0._

* * *

 **August 16, 2282  
I-80 Heading East, Nebraska**

He did not know what it was that awoke him; only that it could not have been good. He jolted upwards, standing on his feet as he surveyed his dark surroundings, carefully seeking out his shotgun with his free hand.

"Alexia," he whispered. "Wake up!"

She did not move, even as he grabbed his shotgun and knelt down next to her, lightly shaking her.

"Wake up!" he commanded.

She groaned in retaliation, pushing his hand away.

"Something's outside." He said.

And it was true, the faint sounds of footsteps could be heard circling the store, but the windows offered little in the way of letting him see the men who were undoubtedly circling the small store.

"I don't hear anything." She mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"Stand up, and hurry!" he commanded, pushing her hard.

She finally huffed, rubbing her eyes as she slowly got up.

' _I don't have time for this shit.'_ He thought, strapping his shotgun over his shoulder as he grabbed her by the waist, dragging her into the backroom of the store as he held her mouth to silence her. He set her down in a corner, his hand still over her mouth.

"Shout and we die." He whispered, "Trust me; there's someone, or something, outside. Scream and they go in here. I don't want to risk it being a Deathclaw." He said with finality, unslinging his shotgun as he removed his hand from her mouth.

She held a confused and concerned look on her face, and the beginnings of what could only have been fear entered her eyes.

"Stay here," he commanded, "I'll take care of it."

"Wait, no! No! Stay!" She whispered back.

He shrugged her hands off of him, cocking his shotgun as he tried to make his way to a window, ducking low to avoid being seen. The footsteps were still there, and from how light they were and how many he could hear, there were roughly more than five men outside, wearing little to no armor at all.

' _Slavers.'_ He thought, knowing that most of the slavers in these parts wore little armor in the style of Caesar's Legion. _'Shit, they must have had runner. Saw us walk in…they want the girl.'_

He readied his shotgun, slightly rising from his position to take a peek at the world outside.

' _Can't see anything!'_ he thought.

It was dark, and nothing he could see outside suggested that there was even anyone surrounding the Gas Station to catch just _one_ girl. _'Well, slaving's funny like that Ethan.'_

He crouched low again, intent on transferring to another window to try his luck there when suddenly the front door to the store blew in, momentarily stunning him.

BOOM! It sounded, knocking Ethan off his feet and flat on his back. Years of experience taught him to get up quickly, and he did so, diving into the back of some shelves to avoid the rain of pistol fire that peppered where he had lain down earlier.

Quickly thinking on his feet, he primed a grenade from his belt, rolling it towards the door. Instead of rolling outside, just as he had intended, it stopped short of his goal, exploding in a brief flash of gold.

' _God damn it, bad throw!'_ he berated himself.

The explosion blew a good sized portion of the front section of the store, and he had no doubt that he had injured several men outside. Not enough.

"Hey, hey! Alright you have bite!" Someone yelled from outside. "We just want the girl! Give the meat to us and I'll forgive you for blowing my boys' faces off!"

"What makes you think it's not the girl who's fighting?" He shouted back in jest, trying to buy some time as he tried to come up with an escape plan.

He couldn't think of any.

' _Fuck it all to hell, of all the places to get ambushed in.'_

"Well, you know how to lob a grenade for one!"

' _Oh, cause I was lucky when I blew up your pals?'_

"Good one! Ha!" he shouted back, not really able to come up with anything witty to shoot back.

"So…the girl!"

"How about caps instead?" he screamed back.

"How about I shove my rifle up your ass, take the girl _and_ the caps?"

Ethan bit his lower lip in annoyance, gripping his shotgun tightly.

"I think I'll ah…I'll settle for kicking your asses instead, save the girl and fuck someone in a whorehouse in Lincoln. Actually, maybe I'll as the girl if she'll share a bed with me. She's cute."

A rusty can hit him in the head, and he turned to look at Alexia's murderous face peeping from the corner of a doorway. He mouthed 'what' to her angry expression, before he motioned for her to get back deeper into the backroom.

"How you proposing to do that, son?"

"Well, I figure there's a dozen of you out there. I have about…seven clips for my handgun and more than ten shells for my shotgun. I think I have a bullet with each of your names written on it. You wanna play target practice?"

A slaver actually managed to find the courage to walk straight up the front, a fact that Ethan quickly took advantage of as he fired his shotgun. The man's head burst into a mist, splattering his grey matter and pieces of his skull all over their still laid bedrolls.

' _There goes my savings.'_

"Whoops, my finger slipped." He shouted back, although the silence he got from the man he was bantering with was pretty worrying.

"I'll give you to the count of three to give up." The man finally said.

' _Okay, okay. Plan A…Grenades right!'_

He unclipped the two remaining grenades he had, rolling an unprimed one towards the front, where he could easily shoot it in case they grow heads and charge head on into the store before priming one, clenching it in his fists so that it would not explode prematurely. He readied his pistol, setting his shotgun to the ground as he waited for the man to begin counting.

"1!"

' _Okay, here goes.'_

"2!"

"3!"

Much to his dismay, the raiders did try charging from the front, with three men entering. He fired his pistol, one eye closed as he aimed for the small grenade. The resulting explosion blew all three men off their feet (well, more like they didn't have any feet…hands), and tearing a new hole into the corner of the front part of the shop.

The four windows of the shop suddenly broke, and Ethan watched with disbelief as four men burst through each. A bullet slammed into his leg, and all Ethan could do was fall to his good leg as he threw the primed grenade in his hands wildly. It rolled, gravitating towards one of the men who jumped through the window, and the man dived away in an attempt to avoid it.

The resulting explosion reduced his feet into nothing but bloody stumps, just as a man ran towards Ethan, kicking him in the face.

He could feel the copper taste in his mouth as he rolled to safety, his thigh thumping in pain. _'Fuck you!'_ he thought, slamming his good knee into the man's chest just as he charged him. He pushed him away, shoving his pistol underneath the man's chin as he pulled the trigger back, the expelled bullet slamming right into his skull, exiting from the top.

"YOU FUCKER!" he heard one of them yell, and the resulting hit to the back of his head that sent him crashing into a shelf in a dazed fashion. He toppled down alongside it, and the same slaver sent a foot into his face.

Another kick was delivered, this time to his torso, and he was actually surprised his ribs didn't break from the force.

More slavers entered through the front, four from what he could tell, and from then on knew he was in trouble. He blocked the next kick with his right hand, pulling it upwards before driving his fist into the man's nether regions.

He didn't doubt he wouldn't be siring any children soon.

The man doubled over in pain, as Ethan delivered a punch into the back of his beck, no doubt breaking it.

He stood up, pain coursing over him as he dived away from a pistol shot from one of the slavers that had entered. He used the body of the slaver he had broken the neck of, using it as a cover the others shot at him.

No bullet touched him.

He blindly fumbled for anything to latch on to, eventually grasping a machete one of the dead slavers had dropped for sure.

"Kill him!" he heard someone yell.

He threw the machete in the general direction of where the gunshots were coming from, and the momentary pause in firing gave him a chance to stand and charge the large, hulking man. He slammed him down into the floor, the pistol in his hands sliding across the floor.

"Suck it!" Ethan screamed, punching the man right across the cheek, before diving for the discarded weapon.

A slaver kicked it away just in time, and as Ethan looked up at him, the butt of a rifle came crashing down.

He moved his head away, barely missing the butt before trying to sweep the man's feet from under him. The other raider kicked his leg wound, and he screamed out in pain as the man straddled him.

Punch after punch after punch slammed into his face, forming cuts along the bottom of his eyes and cheek.

"That's enough, Marv."

The fists crashed into his face anyway. Ethan felt and heard the telltale signs of a struggle, and figured that the other slavers must have pulled the one that had straddled him away.

"That's enough, I said!"

"He killed Oscar! He killed my brother!"

"We'll kill him later! We have fun with the girl first."

Ethan felt his arms forced up above his head, as he was dragged across the floor. He was turned over; laying him down on his stomach as his head was forced sideways, giving him a view of the back room's door, the large raider smashing it open.

"No…" he weakly said, not having enough energy to fight back at the slaver tying his hands behind his back.

He tried to struggle, squirming under the firm grasp of the slaver.

"Hold still you little shit!"

"Fuck you!" he blurted out, blood and spit gurgling in his mouth.

"Laugh now bitch. Let's see who's laughing when I fuck that sweet pussy you brought around with you. HA HA HA!"

"No!" Ethan managed to gurgle out.

He watched in anger as the three slavers entered the backroom, eliciting loud shouts of fear from Alexia.

' _No.'_

He spotted the machete he had thrown earlier, rolling over to it as he heard struggling from the back room.

' _Come on! Shit!'_

He sat up, pushing his hands towards the machete as he grasped it by the blade with his hands tied behind his back.

"Stop! Please no!"

' _Fuck! Shit! Faster, Ethan!'_

He rubbed the thin ropes against the dull blade, faster and faster as Alexia's screams for help grew louder.

"Ethan! Ethan, help!"

' _I'm coming hang on!'_

As the last of the ropes finally separated, he stood up quickly, grabbing the slaver's discarded pistol and the machete from the floor as he dragged himself to the back room, just as 'Marv' walked out.

With a smile on his face, he slammed the machete into his stomach, pushing it sideways and nearly cutting the thin man in half.

In one quick succession, he trained the pistol at the leading slaver, a bullet slamming into the back of the man's head before stabbing the remaining larger slaver through the back. He gurgled in his blood, but seemed to stay alive, eliciting a primal scream from Ethan as he pulled the machete back before stabbing it through the man's neck.

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed out, pulling the dead man's corpse backwards, sending it crashing down into 'Marv's' body.

Alexia lay crying in the corner, desperately wrapping what remained of her robe over her exposed front. Tears trailed down her cheeks, as the injured Ethan walked closer to her. He knelt down slowly beside her, blood drenching everything that could be seen on him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, lifting a hand to lightly touch her shoulder.

She shied away from his touch as if it burned, before her eyes turned to look at him. In an instant she latched on to him, crying into the side of his face.

Throughout the rest of the night, tired and injured as he was, Ethan did nothing but console the woman, who could do nothing but hug him tightly.

But in the back of his mind all night, a thought bothered him as he lay there clutching the woman close to him. He could think of little else but what he had seen before she had latched on to him; before she had collapsed in hysteric cries.

His thoughts could not move on to anything else, going back time and again to the small gold coin she wore like a necklace around her neck.

Caesar's Mark.


	12. No Gods, No Masters

**Santa Fe, New Mexico  
November, 2282**

They had all burned.

Augustus watched with glee as his Legion marched forth. They retook the lands they had lost in the East, a trail of ash, fire and crucifixions left behind them. The invading tribes from Texas cowered in fear, their large numbers doing little against the Legion's new found strength.

Maximus' _cohorts_ , strengthened by the _cohorts_ Augustus himself had once commanded, swept across New Mexico like a plague. After being pushed back to the small city of Gallup, Maximus and he arrived just in time to save the battered and depleted armies of the three Legates meant to hold back the barbarian hordes. Salvaged bats, makeshift spears, old rifles, rusty makeshift blades and leather armor were no match for the assorted energy weapons they had uncovered from Vault 0.

Despite being but one cache of technology, Maximus had described it to be capable of arming at least half of the entire Legion, and Augustus knew there were more Old World places to ransack. Not even Caesar's purge of the Legion territories of anything that belonged to the Old World could cover all the hidden facilities.

Like the Reservation.

And so, while Legate Lucius did a marvelous job keeping the barbarian tribes contained in the southwest, Maximus charged forward with little to no casualties, dealing maximum damage to the _profligates._ Their enemies had tried to fight back, but their efforts could be likened to trying to wash away oil with water.

Vaporization, disintegration; these were two terms Augustus had to familiarize himself with to make sense of the slaughter Maximum dealt against the tribes. He grew excited that, despite unlocking the Vault, they had yet to truly utilize everything.

Currently, Augustus sat in a tent not far from the largest city in the region. From where he sat on top of a hill, he could see miles and miles of destroyed land, a memento of Mars' efforts to cleanse the land of the weak; of letting the Legion rise amidst the atomic fire. High rise buildings had collapsed in on themselves, with most of the rubble rendering the streets hardly traversable. He was sure that somewhere in chaotic scene in front of him, Legionnaires were slaughtering their barbarian counterparts. He could hear the sounds of battle from where he sat, the sounds of the discharges from the energy weapons they had procured was audible from even here. Small fires had broken out, and cages upon cages of captured slaves were sent back into the camp. There must have been a thousand of them already, with most immediately being sent to Phoenix for 'reeducation.'

The plan was to retake the city, before venturing south into Albuquerque, where Lucius would meet them after making an offensive against the quickly retreating hordes in the southwest.

And then, they solidify the borders against the hordes, as Maximus advised against stretching the Legion too thin in the region. Two _cohorts_ worth of men would head north alongside Augustus himself, to scour the mountains for the fabled Reservation; the Los Alamos Research Facility as it was once called.

As he watched the burning wreckages of the city below him, Augustus felt a slight shiver crawl up his spine. Once the Reservation was theirs…the true potential of the Legion would be unleashed on the NCR.

* * *

 **Nipton, State of New Vegas, The Federation of Independent States  
February, 2283**

This place used to be a dump. There used to be heads on the tip of spears, and crucified Powder Gangers lining up the street towards the Town Hall. That was how he, Boone, remembered it. That was how most from Jacobstown to Camp Searchlight remembered it.

Now? Now it didn't even look like something you'd normally see in New Vegas. Or anywhere really.

It was now a shining example of all the good things that had happened since New Vegas gained independence from that sick freak Caesar and the NCR. Granted, he wasn't exactly thrilled to go against the military he had once called family, but what happened in the end was for the best. The first few months were rough for sure, with barely more than a hundred signing up for the army. They managed to clean up the streets, yes, but the economy of the entire state wasn't really growing.

He had his doubts those few months, even reaching a point where he wanted to back out from this Independent New Vegas gig and move to California.

Glad he didn't.

Whoever this UNSC was, they were friends of Philon, and that was good enough for him. Heaven knows Philon had an ability to meet the most 'unique' friends, with Yes Man coming to mind; and if he had friends with advanced technologies like what they had, then all the more better. They had been nothing but helpful since their arrival anyway, giving them the tech that made New Vegas into a bonafied power in the wastes.

Oh, it wasn't actually New Vegas anymore; it was the Alliance Federation or simply the Alliance.

Every major community and city in between Pioche, Atomtown and New Vegas had made efforts to become part of be annexed by New Vegas. The new factories, farms, economy and martial strength of New Vegas attracted many in the region. The NCR had been the most active when it came to reacting to the increased military capabilities of the NVA (or the Federation Armed Forces as it was known now), positioning several thousand men in their territories in Northern Nevada, particularly in Goldfield. They had expected this from them; what they hadn't counted on was the Legion's retreat further inwards into Arizona. According to Philon, Lanius had been deposed (another thumbs down to another son of a bitch) by a former Legate known as Augustus, who was chiefly responsible in stabilizing the northeastern regions of Legion territory when Caesar was alive.

They had moved most of their men southwards, away from Utah. The border between the NCR and the Legion had seen an increase in Legion troops, but the remaining army was nowhere to be found. Rumor had it that the Legion was bogged down in New Mexico, fending off an invasion from Texan tribes.

Boone hoped the tribes won against the bastards.

As he walked into the restructured and reorganized town, he took in the many changes since the last time he had been here. Everything was cleaner now, and in terms of being the most advanced looking town or city in the wastes, Nipton was second only to New Vegas City. The Town Hall was nowhere to be found, a large statue of the Starbird instead being in its place with vertically placed Alliance flags surrounding it in a semi-circle fashion. Two large stone slabs in the likeness of the NCR monument in Boulder City sat on either side of the statue, with a description of how the town of Nipton inspired the Courier to fight for the independence of New Vegas etched on the slabs.

The main street now featured to buildings faced in front of each other; the left one was built in a flipped, upside down 'L' pattern with a small clock built in the middle of the 'L' in Venetian style. Whatever Venetian was.

The new Town Hall was faced opposite the new Sheriff's Station…of which he was in command of.

Yes, he had retired from the army. Seeing that everything was moving pretty well without him, he had decided to take a break. He was in the reserves anyway, so when things with the Legion get serious, Philon knew who the first to call on was.

Aside from the two new buildings, several other structures were established. Everything north of the road heading east held the shops, the new school, and a packaging and distribution center for most of the produced vegetables and meat from the farms east of Nipton. Needless to say, barely anyone in the town was jobless.

Everything south of the road was undeveloped patches of land, as well as the housing for most of the new people in the town. An army recruitment center was also set up nearby, and Boone personally knew some of them. With a population of nearly a thousand, and many more travelers from Primm and Goodsprings, there wasn't much of a shortage in terms of people willing to serve.

Which now led him to his current predicament. He never would have imagined that he'd end up being a pencil pusher, but here he was. Sheriff of Nipton with twenty other deputies serving a 'town' with a population of a thousand. It was a bit of a headache, especially since some of the younger kids who had never before got to play freely liberally vandalized a lot of the new homes and buildings. They had cracked down on them, but it was a recurring problem.

Not a major one, but a headache nonetheless.

They were currently behind the old train station, where a makeshift target range had been set up. His men absolutely sucked at shooting, and Boone knew that it was because most of them saw being a law enforcer as an easy way to earn money.

It really was, as they were normally paid N500 every month by the Finance Department of the town.

"Again!" he commanded, only getting annoyed at the repeated failures of the men. "I don't know how you all even became enforcers. Do any of you even know how to fire a gun?"

They ignored his pointed question, shooting their weapons again in frustration.

"Now you're just wasting the Town's money. Bullets aren't cheap you know."

The group of frustrated men tried firing once more, but the clicking of their guns only went to show how useless they were when it came to weapons.

"You didn't even count your shots?" Boone asked, "You're using pistols!"

"Look, we're sorry! But we're not soldiers!" one of them said.

Boone mentally sighed, walking towards him as he went right into his face.

"No, you're a protector of this town from anyone dumb enough to attack it!"

The man didn't seem perturbed, shaking his head as he shuffled back away from Boone.

"Who's going to attack? The army's barely a few minutes away! They'd just carve the NCR a new one or punch the Legion lights out."

And _this_ was the effect having a stronger army had on most in the country.

Arrogance.

Boone looked at them all, some trying to stifle their laughter at one of their comrade's comments. They held their weapons loosely, every one of them being lax at the thought of fighting an enemy many miles away from them. This was what peace did, Boone thought, bringing a level of laziness to people who reveled in it.

The former sniper nodded, holstering his own weapon.

"So that's who they are to you huh?" He asked, silencing most of the men. "You think that just because we have an army that the Legion and NCR are gonna roll over if they ever do attack? Is that who you think they are? Some fucking bucked tooth poster boy drawn up by some asshole in 'Vegas City!"

He grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck, all traces of the smile on his face gone. "You better believe that the Legion has us by the numbers. Ten to one. They attack, Nipton's right in the way. We don't have numbers do we? Powder Gangers can shoot better than you, and they got put through the lottery. Understand?"

The man nodded quietly, and Boone pushed him backwards into his friends.

"These people are counting on you to protect them. The army won't always be there to pick up the slack. You can't shoot, everyone dies. And do I even need to remind you what the Government does to insubordination?"

Death by hanging really. Archaic and violent just like the Legion, but was well within the rights in terms of the Law. As long as they didn't run back as soon as they saw the enemy, they were good.

"Do I make myself clear?" he asked, a hint of steel in his voice.

"Yes sir." They replied

"Then try shooting your targets this time. Again!"

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 **Former Brotherhood of Steel Bunker, New Vegas  
February, 2283**

"And you're sure of this?" Philon asked.

"Yes. Our contact from Nebraska shadowed two Legion officers, die hard fanatics of Caesar. They left a girl to some unknown man, before locking themselves in a motel. Owner found them days later, suicide."

He nodded to the ghoul, whose face was barely illuminated in the dark light of the room. A projector was set up between them, slides of black and white pictures being flashed on the wall.

"Where are they headed?" he asked him.

"Chicago, sir. Although this information is late, considering how long it takes for agents to travel to and from Nebraska, so some of these details might have changed. And this _was_ last November sir. They might be in Chicago now…or not."

Philon nodded, before asking a question he had asked ED-E many months ago.

"What's a Chicago?"

"Oh, a city in the east. It's in an Old World state named Illinois."

Philon nodded, turning to the next slide, an image of a lightly haired woman, probably blonde.

"And her?"

He heard a sigh come from the ghoul, who let go a stream of smoke from his mouth.

"We…asked around from our friends in Utah and Colorado. We have no definite proof for now, but we have suspicions. The old Legates loyal to Caesar haven't been very forthcoming with information."

Philon leaned into his metallic arm, rubbing his chin in thought.

"What are the chances that she's someone's daughter?"

"Possible, considering the lengths the two officers in Nebraska went through to get her to this man."

"What do we have on him anyway?" Philon asked, leaning backwards into his chair. He lit up his own cigarette, putting in more smoke in the already haze filled room.

"We have nothing solid, but he's from D.C. Word is he's a Vault Dweller, nothing much else."

"Okay, so there's something here, but not big enough for it to be a lead."

"Sadly, no."

He nodded, turning the projector off as he stood up. The lights brightened, and he watched the Ghoul rise up as well.

"Agent." Philon simply said.

"Mr. Hawke." The ghoul replies, shaking his hands as they both exited the room, bringing the stack of slides with them.

"But please, do update me if there are any developments." Philon said, walking out of the room and into the busy hallway. Men in suits walked around, stacks of papers in their hands. A few technicians were scattered as well, fixing exposed cables and pumps that ran all across the 'secret' facility; the new home of Federal Intelligence, the successor of NEVICENT.

"Of course, Mr. Hawke." The ghoul said, before shaking his hands once more before separating with him.

Philon took the long walk back to his office, barely believing that the former Brotherhood Elder's office was now his own. Veronica had given them her blessing to use the old bunker for their own purposes, considering that the Mojave detachment of the Brotherhood of Steel just upped and left. Just like that.

Of course, as was their usual modus operandi, they took whatever scraps of technology they could with them, even the virus infected terminals that Philon used to fiddle with alongside that Scribe. Yes, _that_ Scribe who he just couldn't remember the name of.

Stacks of paper and folders were already on his desk, and Philon already dreaded the fact that he had to go through them all. Most were just reports on the status of the many missions F.I. agents were conducting. It wasn't a surprise to see more reports coming in from the Legion than the NCR, however useless they were. The others were just simple reports on the lands north. Most of what they had on the north were pretty basic; just general information that most travelers already knew. The ones on the NCR were just...well more sensitive information. Troop counts, specific names of army officers, weapon depots, financial information, industrial secrets; it had taken a lot of bribing to get what they had.

The information they had on the Legion was the most useless ones they had really. The only thing they really knew was where the bulk of their armies were, but other than that, nothing.

Well, that's what you get when dealing with fanatics as Philon always surmised. It didn't help that the whole espionage and spying gig was pretty new to most people in the organization.

As he sat down behind his circular table, he looked back on the events that shaped the New Year.

By the time December had come to a close, representative of the many different towns and cities from the North had come to lobby themselves for annexation by New Vegas, with some even offering up a substantial amount of fighters as leverage for their negotiations. Beatty (Beauty), Atom Town, Lather Top Wells; all were now the jurisdiction of the Federation much to the NCR's dismay.

The rival nation had beefed up their numbers along Highway 6, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the men there were the strongest of the NCR.

While this all happened, the Federation of Independent States were formed, with New Vegas City (pending the establishment of a city whose identity wasn't about gambling or casinos) as its capital. It was a Republic in nature (well, sort of) wherein a President handled the _internal_ affairs…and a Chancellor handled the external side. The system was born out of the desires of the many representatives that had come together to not put faith into just _one_ man. They didn't want to be like the NCR, or the Legion, where the former was corrupt, and the latter was a dictator. No, they wanted leaders to not have absolute power.

An Upper House (or Senate, as it was called) was formed where individuals were voted into power by the people on a merit based system. While nobody had the experience or qualifications needed to meet the ideal merit system Philon and the others had envisioned, the powers of the Senate would be temporarily held by the Lower House (the Congress), where representatives of the different 'states' were.

By January of 2283, the Mojave Accord was created, which acted like a Constitution. Following this, elections were held, with a Ghoul named Paul Adams was voted into Presidency, and Rose Kyle became Chancellor. The New Vegas Army was reorganized into the Federation Armed Forces, and NEVICENT was made into the F.I.

The rest, as they say, is history.

The UNSC, which had been passed off as a U.S. Army remnant who left Anchorage due to a deteriorating environmental situation, had signed a 'Visiting Forces Agreement' with the Federation. Philon had directed them to the Divide and Big MT (which they enjoyed due to the technology and Dr. Mobius), which they quickly 'fixed.' Most of the radiation in the Divide was removed (a process he wanted to know to remove pockets of radiation in the F.I.S.), and the Big MT earned Philon several _other_ blueprints for more advanced technologies for the Federation to use. It was a pretty good deal, as the Big MT gave them access to fresh resources and science that even they found to be amazing.

And they needed the Divide to land their ships in anyway.

It was an amazing sight really, as a two kilometer long ship that was a kilometer thick flew down through the clouds while hundreds of Pelicans flew around a thousand kilometer wide radius to make sure no one was watching as the ships landed.

Well, they didn't really land, just hovered a few stories above ground to preserve their fuel.

'Short docking' as they had called it.

It allowed the crews of each to walk around the Divide; to taste the air of this Earth. After many months (or years according to some) stuck in space, Philon saw happy faces from the people who walked on real ground. It was a mystery how they kept the thousand kilometer wide perimeter secured from prying eyes, but considering he had barely seen what they were truly capable of; Philon chalked it up to advanced technology and left it there.

They still stuck to their old deployments in the Mojave, training the F.A.F. for all it was worth. New additions to the equipment the army now had were the UNSC's older models of movable artillery pieces, mortars (which were damn useful), holographic sights (which the ones the old U.S. Army used had nothing on), and personal radios.

Aside from these commitments they had made, they also gave up the factories that they owned in the Mojave to the AF after its creation, choosing instead to use the facilities available in the Big MT.

The addition to the Federation's already large industry had drastic effects in the country. Aided by the influx of fresh resources from the new territories they now owned, the F.I.S. leadership by the start of February went on an all-out civil development project. They left most of the roads as is, seeing as no vehicles have yet to be produced (and no one knew how to drive), building instead a railway that ran from Pioche all the way down to Novac. The new trains were based on old UNSC designs, meant to carry a thousand people per collection of train cars to any destination in the Mojave.

To ensure that there would be a lot of internal movement in the area, the AF helped businesses grow, allowing them to recruit from the northern regions to work in company facilities in the much more developed south.

Also, New Vegas City (better than ever) attracted a lot of people anyway. It could be said that the loss of tourists from the NCR didn't hurt them a bit, as many more travelers from the east came in, the path to New Vegas clearer now that the Legion had retreated from Utah.

Happy times in the Mojave.

A beep removed him from his thoughts, and he turned to look at his computer terminal. The familiar green texts rolled across the screen as he accessed the new message he had just received. He mentally groaned, hoping that Arcade would make a breakthrough with the miniaturized processors to bring a new level of computer technology for them to use.

It was only after he had used a UNSC computer that he realized how far behind they were in terms of computers.

The email, passed along the bunker's local systems, took a while to load. It had come from James Eddard, another Ghoul in the service. He was the Intelligence Officer for the Rogues from what he could remember, and only really sent communiques to him directly when the matter at hand usually involved Black Ops of tremendous importance; ops that only Rogues could really accomplish.

 _RE: Colorado Situation/ LEVEL 3_

His eyes widened in surprise, and almost immediately, he stood up. Level 3's were never, well, called upon by anyone before.

It was the sort of security level reserved only for the most special pieces of information.

The knock on Eddard's door came quick, and the man let him in easily. His desk wasn't in a better shape in his, with piles of folders and papers stacked on it.

"Director." The ghoul said, grabbing a folder from the pile. "You have to see this."

Philon grabbed the thick folder handed to him, opening it immediately to read what was inside.

 _Agent Atlas Report, February 18th, 2283._

 _92 hours after deployment just north of Denver, I have successfully managed to scale the mountains a couple of miles near the city. Legion presence here is abnormally thick, especially with no immediate threats from the north or east._

 _I have successfully managed to track where many Legion supply carts are coming from, filled with crates with unknown contents._

 _The Legion has managed to find a Vault; though why they have not destroyed it yet is still unknown. Large quantities of energy weapons, power armor, and other unidentifiable materials are being brought out through the supply carts. Radiation levels from the place are off the charts, with many Legionnaires taking large shots of Rad-X before entering._

 _The tunnel to the Vault, which is numbered as zero, reads as 'CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN COMPLEX.'_

 _Will signal for pickup soon after; presence of energy weapons not yet destroyed by Legion shows newfound tactics of Legion. Possible they might be using the weapons elsewhere based on my prior knowledge of Legion army positions._

"Is this serious?" Philon asked, pacing around the room.

"Yes Director. We only managed to pick her up a day ago, and it took us some time to discern the contents of her numerous filed reports."

"But, energy weapons? Doesn't the Legion hate technology?"

Eddard shrugged, unsure of what to say. "Could be a shift in ideologies. This Augustus fellow seems more…idealistic than Caesar."

Philon snorted, scratching his nose with his metal arm. "Now that's saying something."

In truth, he was worried. A Legion powered by energy weapons and, should they manage to learn how to use them, power armors was scary. Even with all the gains they've made with the Alliance Army, he wasn't sure they'd be able to contend with a power like that. The UNSC might, but he never knew with the Captains, who seemed more concerned with finding a way back, this world be damned.

"Inform the Generals then."

"Make this public knowledge sir?"

Philon shook his head, taking a seat on one of the couches that decorated the small office.

"No, no. Just the Generals. Oh and the Chancellor and President as well. No, actually I'll deal with them. Afterwards, you inform the Generals."

Eddard nodded, sitting behind his own desk with a contemplative look on his rotting face.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"I have an idea," Philon admitted, taking a deep breath. "But I need approval from the Chancellor."

Which was funny, as he never needed the approval of anyone before to do something. Times change after all.

* * *

 **Shady Sands  
Circa 2283**

"Yes and I understand your apprehension Senator Stout! But if we don't do something with this…Alliance menace than next thing we know New Reno and the rest of Nevada will be joining them!"

General Lee Oliver simply sat down next to President Kimball, watching the proceedings of the Senatorial debates on what to do with the situation in the Mojave.

 _'The Alliance.'_ He thought with disgust, thinking back on the last time he was in the Mojave. The people there, who the NCR has the gracious decency to protect from Caesar held no shame or honor in his opinion. They had turned their backs on the NCR, building their own nation.

 _'If only we knew you'd stab us in the backs, we'd have never bothered with you bastards.'_

"Something in your mind, General?" Kimball asked a concerned look on his face.

Oliver shook his head, though the disgusted look on his face remained.

"Just thinking."

"About the Mojave?"

"Yes."

The two senators on the floor had now delved into heated arguments, with most of the others siding with Senator Little, who heavily favored an invasion of the Alliance to force them out of central Mojave.

"They all had us fooled, General. Welcoming us with open arms. Frosty, yes, but a peaceful welcome nonetheless."

Oliver looked back on the years he served in the Mojave. It was true; the people were either welcoming of them, or indifferent to their arrival there. Not even annexing certain parts of New Vegas had elicited violent reactions from anyone other than groups that were really against them like the Fiends.

"That all changed with the Courier, as we all know." Oliver replied, watching as the other Senators clap in agreement to Little's proclamations.

The decision was already made; the Senate was simply going through the motions now. Soon, there was to be a war against the Alliance, to take lands that the NCR media had spun up to be rightfully theirs. Even the opponents to such a decision had already known that they would lose; they were simply fighting to earn points with the general public in case such a war ever ended up being a war of attrition. Everyone hated those.

"Ah yes, the Courier." Kimball said, looking bored at the proceedings of the Senate. "He would have made a fine Senator."

Oliver didn't reply, knowing that Kimball had been right. The Courier was gifted with a sly tongue, managing to convince _him_ not to fight. He was a fool; he shouldn't have believed him and his claims of outnumbering them.

"I asked you to sit with me General, because I'd like to give you the war you've always wanted." Kimball said, turning to look at Oliver with a nonchalant expression on his face.

The General adopted a look of caution on his face, waiting for the President to continue.

"I know you sent money to the Press, to get them to spin a story about how the Federation is annexing entire cities who want to be part of the NCR. And I approve."

"How did you know?" Oliver asked, not really bothered that Kimball knew.

"I have my resources." The President answered. "I shall give you what you did not have in the dam…more men and resources. I only ask that you deliver the Courier here, to stand trial for being a war criminal. I want to humiliate the man who made my days in this office numbered."

Oliver smirked, watching as the Senators vote the NCR into war against the Alliance.

"I'll have complete command then?"

"Yes you shall." Kimball said, before turning serious and looking at Oliver with a speculative gaze. "Just don't...screw up things for the both of us, Oliver, or certain truths about what you've done might just come to light."

Oliver finally felt shivers run down his spine.


	13. Downtime

**April 16, 2283  
Camp Golf, Federation of Independent States**

"Well fuck me."

The trainees had gathered around the raging sergeant, trying to stop themselves from laughing at the expense of their companion. A red mannequin stood in the middle of the group, small scratches adorning its surface. A few meters behind it, the remains of a blue painted mannequin could be seen, sitting silently within a smoking crater.

Andrew Hill, humiliated as he was, just stood there with a red face, trying to take the sergeant's insults in stride.

"Why the fuck did you blow up the blue one for? You found out your buddy blue here was fucking your boyfriend?" The sergeant, De Santa, exclaimed, pointing towards the red painted mannequin. "Your buddy's dead, and Trooper fuck face over here's still kicking, and he's about to kill you Hill!" He jabbed a finger into the chest of Andrew, poking it over and over again as he loudly screamed out a 'BANG' with each poke.

"You're dead, Hill, and you just screwed your entire platoon cause you fucking blew up your buddy!"

A small wave of chuckles could be heard, followed by small smiles after the sergeant's outburst. The man turned to them, looking more furious than he did before.

"Shut up; none of you jackasses are any better!"

The insult had the intended effect, as the group grew silent.

De Santa had turned his full attention back to Andrew by the time his friends had grown silent, a stern look upon his face. "What were your read outs, Hill!"

Andrew stiffened, bravely raising his head to fully look his sergeant in the eye. After a moment, he quietly muttered "35, 25, 62."

The sergeant shook his head no, biting his bottom lip as an exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "It's 35, 25, 52 you fucking idiot."

Andrew could do nothing else but bite back his disappointment with himself, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. "Yes sir." He muttered out after a short silence, clasping his hands tightly on his back.

This was probably the hundredth time his artillery group had failed this particular exercise, all because of his mistakes with calculating the read outs from the A-33's Terrain Targeting System. Had it been a real situation, he would have been court martialed for inexplicably killing a fellow soldier.

It wasn't that he was a bad shot; far from it. Over 200 exercises were executed to perfection by his group. Unfortunately, those 200 were all successful only because his calculations were assisted by the kilometer-wide radius of the A-33's Terrain Mapper. It, alongside the Terrain Targeting System, which was basically a 2D representation of the surrounding terrain with large crosshairs in the middle for aiming the A-33, made for a pretty accurate artillery piece that could precisely kill or destroy anything within a kilometer.

Beyond that however, and the Terrain Mapper stops working, making calculating exact coordinates difficult when only using the Targeting System.

"Run the exercise again, and try not to fuck up again Hill." De Santa ordered, waving them away.

"Sir, yes sir!" Hill loudly yelled back, turning around alongside his fellow trainees before taking the long kilometer long jog back towards their practice A-33. He was determined to make the right calculations this time, if only to stop Sergeant De Santa from breathing down his neck every time he made a mistake.

Truthfully though, he was here for a deeper reason. He, his mother, father and sister, had come all the way from somewhere in Oregon; 'somewhere' being the answer he gave those who asked him, because of his family's constant movement from one city to another, leading to their having no permanent home. They moved so much partly because of a lack of job opportunities and because of the constantly warring sides that spread much hate and destruction. The Daunted, Ironclad, and a pack of Ghouls led by Ivan Porter were all responsible for the lack of safety in Oregon.

Hearing of the recent successes of New Vegas, they made their way south.

The best decision of their lives.

They were stopped at the border by New Vegas (which they learned called itself the Federation now) by the last week of March. They were a suspicious bunch, but considering how both the NCR and Legion both wanted to strike at them, he couldn't blame them.

They were questioned, stripped of their personal belongings, were medically checked and kept in a holding cell alongside a hundred others. Andrew began to believe that they were all going to be pushed out, leaving them with having to find somewhere else to live.

But, they weren't. They were given 'Citizenship Application Forms,' half of the words of which he couldn't even read. But he didn't care. The women assisting them had explained everything to the, and after four days of being housed in Beauty Town, they were given their personal belongings back and were told they were now citizens of the Federation.

Happiness. That as what Andrew felt. Being a citizen of the Federation involved free schooling, something his sister and his parents had taken full advantage of. Sally, his sister, and he were enrolled in one of the many 'fast track' schools near New Vegas City. Seeing as they were too old for formal education that began from the nursery level, the fast track schools was their only option to have basic education. He excelled at math, and she chose to try her luck with earning a degree to work in the medical field in the University of New Vegas.

Their parents remained in Beauty Town, his father signing up as a construction worker for the new factories being constructed around the town. His mother meanwhile opened up a small restaurant, catering to the needs of many workers in the town who were on break.

It was a good thing, what was happening to his family.

And he wanted to repay the 'country' that gave all these opportunities to him and his family. He wasn't as hard working, or as smart as his sister, nor did he want to work in a job like what his father and mother had.

Which was why he enlisted.

"Alright, we run it again!"

Andrew shook himself from his thoughts, gripping the notebook and pencil in his hands tightly as his squad mates took their positions around the A-33.

"Sir, yes sir!" They intoned as one.

Andrew crouched beside the targeting system, looking at the 2D screen intently as he waited for orders.

Sergeant De Santa sat down on his seat, which was slightly elevated than the artillery platform they were on. He held a pair of binoculars in his hand, aiming it to the vast landscape in front of them, which stretched past the lake the Camp was near.

"Same situation; no on site eyes. Eyeball it. One round, HE." The sergeant declared, adjusting the sites on his binoculars. "Fire when ready!"

Andrew nodded, turning to look at Walter.

"Spotter! Coordinates!" he yelled out.

As soon as the numbers left his mouth, Andrew went to work.

Normally, coordinates would have been enough with the old Howitzers the old NVA had. Unfortunately for them and fortunately for those unlucky enough to get caught near the area where their enemy were, the A-33 with its Galileo-23 shells could strike at any target with frightening accuracy.

As with nearly everything, math was involved for such accuracy. And being the best at math out of all of them, it was Andrew's job to handle this.

He wrote on his notebook, calculating the exact place the rounds should hit. He input his readout to the targeting system, just as the others in the crew loaded a single HE round into the chamber.

With one last look at the targeting system, he looked at the gunner, nodding.

"Fire!" 

* * *

**April 24, 2283  
The Transcendent, The Divide**

A small city, that was what Captain Garland would call what he was currently staring at from the Viewing Deck on the underbelly of the Transcendent. Beneath them lay what used to be a destroyed patch of land irradiated to hell. It took weeks of anti-rad scrubbing before most of the pockets of radiation were removed, and many more months after it to build what they had today.

Gleaming from end to end with its brightly painted walls, the small settlement many within their fleet chose to build and occupy stood as a testament to how quickly the UNSC can get things done. Three story buildings meant to serve as 'apartments' for the UNSC personnel were easily built, alongside entire hangars and landing bays for the many Pelicans and Falcons that flew to and from the Divide. Camps that housed endless numbers of UNSC Marines were built in the southern most portion of the small city, with a large open field to act as a training ground to keep their skillsets sharp should the need for them arise.

Engineers and Technicians who had volunteered for the job built a factory to the southeast, which produced much of the settlements needed materials such as metals and other tools; they were most known for being able to create semiconductors and medical equipment that the small hospital at the center of the settlement needed.

Farms had sprung up quickly as well, using the on board terraforming tools of the Transcendent. While not being a fully functioning terraforming machine like the one used on Mars, the kit available to the Transcendent was powerful enough to terraform a small patch of land such as the Divide, removing the settlement's dependence on food and supplies coming in from the Federation and the Transcendent itself.

Although Captain Garland was happy for the diminishing anxiousness of the men and women under his command, he was disgruntled for one simple reason:

They were settling in.

The Big MT had become the UNSC's sole research and development center on this planet, and dare he say it, but the scientists, technicians and mechanics assigned to it have fallen into a groove. Experiments and tests not meant for find a way back to their own universe, but for other purposes, had quickly sprung up as soon as the last of the construction projects on the complex had finished. Even Doctor Morrow, who's primary function there was to oversee the research on crossing universes, began reporting successes in experiments to Captain Garland not even remotely related to the effort to find a way back home.

And now, the last of the construction projects in the Divide had finished, and Captain Garland felt useless as a Captain of the UNSC, who strove to find a way back into their proper universe. He could see it in the way even _his_ crew acted; they had become content. Of course, not all of them behaved this way, as many others wanted to go back to the UNSC. This had caused numerous infighting between those under his command, which made the issue of settling down a huge point he and the other captains had to work out.

By his duties alone, he was obligated to try and find a way back into their universe, to fight for humanity.

But deep inside, the flame of passion that had once freely burned within him had dimmed. The many months of relative peace here on this Earth replaced his feelings of duty for the UNSC. He had begun to become…affectionate of the humans here, and their plight.

He now felt he had a bigger duty here; to protect, serve, uplift and give better lives to this version of humanity.

Obviously, such thoughts were treasonous, and he had no doubt in his mind that should his true feelings about the matter be known by the other captains, he would find himself at the wrong end of a gun. He couldn't even tell Samuels about it, unsure whether UNSC regulations and their execution were hardcoded into the AI. He didn't want to confide in someone he believed to be a friend, only for his last thoughts alive to be of that same friend stabbing him in the back.

So he trudged on silently, doing his business as he normally would, the people around him none the wiser about his true opinions. When the time to face the issue came, only then would he act. Until then, he waited to see how everything would play out, hoping that the other captains and other personnel would see the truth for what it really is: they were never going to find a way back.

The moment Doctor Morrow had seemingly given up on her main objective, Garland knew they would never see UNSC space again. The woman was not one to give up on her work, only doing so once all avenues had been exhausted, and all calculations pointed towards the improbability of her being able to succeed in her goal. Ultimately, that must have been what had happened, as once she lost hope, Garland did too.

Samuel's orange form flickering into life brought him out of his musings, as he turned to look at his AI companion, who had snapped off a quick salute before relaxing his holographic posture.

"Captain."

"Samuel."

"A report from Doctor Morrow about the experiments on the element. Still no successes I'm afraid." Samuel declared, bowing his head. "I have her report."

Garland simply nodded, "Upload it on my station.

"Would you like for me to compose a reply to the Doctor?" Samuel asked, animatedly throwing away what appeared to be a folder. Almost instantaneously, Garland's station emitted a soft beep, indicating Samuel's successful upload of the Doctor's report.

"Just the standard Confirmation of Reception message Samuel."

"Right away sir."

Another flicker, and Samuel's orange form disappeared from view, leaving the captain alone with his thoughts once more. He took out his smoking pipe, nibbling on its end as he observed the rest of his crew. They quietly did their work, as usual. Hardworking men and women, every single one of them.

They really were.

The sudden realization that no one within this room had had time to rest since their unpredicted arrival in this universe, something that Garland knew would be detrimental to morale should it continue. Regardless of how his crew felt about their situation in this universe, rest was still a cherished thing. Nodding to himself, he began typing on his station.

It was time to arrange a shore leave for his crew. 

* * *

**August 20, 2282  
Nebraska**

He lifted his finger up from the ground, running the gathered soot up in the palm of his hand. The soft black and grey powder spread all over it, and at once he had found what he was looking for.

"So, what's the verdict?"

The question was whispered so softly that he barely heard it. There was no need to entertain the speaker anyway; he had a job to do, and standing around chatting with people of lower rank than him would do little in the fulfillment of his goals.

"Two people lay here." He voiced, more to himself than to the companion he had in the room with him. "The dirt on the ground here is lighter than the rest." He declared.

"Are you suggesting that two people did all this?"

Had he been looking at the man, he would have no doubt that he had his arms outstretched around him, adding emphasis to his question about the state of their current environment. Indeed, that was what even _he_ would do. In lieu of answering him, he stood up from his crouched position, glancing behind him, his eyes glued to the blood covered ground.

A man lay face down not far from where he had crouched, a pool of blood drenching the cold, dead body. There were footsteps not far from where the body lay; encrusted in the scarlet of the dead man's blood, they led to the outside of the carcass of the battered store.

One belonged to a man, and another to a woman.

He followed it, stepping over the dead man and his puddle of blood. He did not need any confirmation to know that the dead man had been a _Vulepsis,_ a _brother_ of their Order. The tattoos on his neck, which he had seen on most of the dead bodies in this place, made sure that all of his _brothers_ were easily identifiable.

True, when he first arrived, he had no idea why his fellows had died in such a place. It seemed like the most random spot along the Interstate, raising the question of just why they were here in the first place.

Obviously, recent evidences he had gathered cast some light on that particular mystery; whoever these unknown individuals were, they were obviously not part of his ilk. His _family._ Under the Laws proclaimed by Edith the Holy himself, all those not born from the Holy Family were to be enslaved; brought under the heel of the _Vulepsis_ to serve it.

And as a _Portis_ , it was his duty to enforce Edith's Law.

And unfortunately for these two souls, killing those of his ilk was a crime. A crime he was entrusted with punishing.

" _Portis,_ where are you going?"

He was growing increasingly frustrated with all these questions; this man was hindering his progress. He had walked outside, into the light of the rising sun. A car, acquired by the Order from the many bunkers and Vaults raided by them to accrue martial strength, sat parked just outside the broken walls of the shop. Rusty, with more than a few parts looking as if it would break apart any moment, were all the visual elements he needed to know that this vehicle would need to be scrapped soon; a shame, considering the Order's quickly dwindling supplies of working vehicles.

" _Portis?"_ His companion asked once more.

Sighing, as he got into the driver's seat of the vehicle, he cast a look of annoyance at the sandy haired man that had followed him outside.

"There were two people here; a man and a woman. These bodies; they have been dead for a day or two at least."

The man's head reared back in disbelief, and the look on his face was evidence of his lack of faith in the man before him. An insult, really, as _he_ was the Order's most trusted _Portis._

"You can't be serious? Two people for this much senseless death?"

He had many things to say to this question; rebuttals that would unfortunately land him the unwanted label of _heretic_. He wasn't as… _enamored_ like most of his brethren. He was not blind, particularly in matters of _slavery._

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he swept his arms around, allowing his companion to take note of their environment.

"Our _brothers_ are dead. If not by two skilled fighters, then all I have to say is that they had help. Most likely from a distance," at this, he stretched his arm towards the field on the other side of the road, "I cannot be sure for we are short on time. The Order wants their missing _sultes_ , and they want them as soon as possible!"

He started the vehicles engine, which required him to twist the key in the ignition for a few times before the machine coughed up a nefarious smell that did not sit well with his nose. He covered his face with whatever he could, before waving his companion forward.

"Get in!"

He heard nothing in return, except for the gentle opening of the vehicle's passenger side door. The metal creaked, it's clangs sounding like what rusty metal should. His companion said nothing as he got in, yet he already understood what was expected of him as short moments passed between them.

Not bothering to turn towards his passenger, he grabbed onto the long necklace hooked around his neck. Its weight was nothing compared to the rifle and plasma pistol he had attached slung around his body, and yet it's presence held far more significance than any weapon he had. He thumbed its pendant, feeling its hard edges grazing against his thumb harshly much like a rock across his palm.

Finally, after a few moments passed, he turned.

With a hesitant smile which went unnoticed by his companion, he uttered the words he felt were foreign, even to him; a man who had lived with his religion all his life. He grazed his thumb across the pendant one last time, unconsciously asking guidance from the very being he had grown alienated with; the being who his belief in had waned.

"For Atom." He said, the fake smile on his face serving as a satisfactory proof of his devotion to the one true God. 

* * *

**A/N:**

 **First off, I would like to apologize for the extremely late update on this story. It's been a hectic few months for me, and I've had little time to touch a computer for other purposes besides work. Again, I apologize, and I hope you enjoy this little update of mine. Needless to say, updates will be a little more quicker nowadays now that my schedule's lightened up.**


	14. Under Atom's Light

**November 25, 2282  
** **The Holy City, Nebraska**

* * *

The coldness had started creeping up his leg, as the howling winds from the radiation storm outside blew a draft into the tightly sealed Temple Hall. Banners bearing the symbol of the Order were strung up above on the high ceiling, stretching down to a stop just a few feet above the gathered crowd's heads. It was as much as a show of grandeur as it was an attempt to make anyone who had meant to walk into the Hall feel small; to let them realize that it was Atom above who would always be the larger, greater being watching them all.

Whatever the reasoning for the architecture had been, he knew the truth. This was nothing but another building left over from the Great War, repurposed by whatever civilization needed it for whatever it fancied. It had been done countless times before by other groups of people, and he knew many other people knew it too. It was just that many more simply deluded themselves into thinking that Atom had built this place.

As it was, the unfortunate circumstance he had found himself involved those very same people that he often liked to chide as foolish individuals for believing such tales. Atom, in his mind, was not real. He had long began to doubt his existence, and yet here his supposed servants were, gathered into a U-shaped table with him in the middle. Wearing white robes that stretched down past their knees to touch the ankles of their feet, anyone who did not belong to their Order would almost immediately look past their cloned clothes and take notice of the vast differences they had when it came to matters of the…hair.

Only four out of the ten High Inquisitors had a full set of hair, and even then, theirs seemed to be withering and dying. Greying and falling out in some places, the loss of hair could be attributed to the radiation they constantly kept themselves surrounded by as much as it could be to the high stress that their jobs entailed.

He was lucky. He had been born into Atom's light, giving him a natural resistance to the radiation by the time he had turned 20. He would never see his hair fall like the others, nor would he feel radiation poisoning's effects until it was too much for even his body to handle.

Indeed, it seemed as if he was a man walking with lead plates surgically inserted into his body.

The High Inquisitors had remained silent for the last couple of minutes, deliberating on his report regarding his current investigation. Whispered words had been passed from one end of the table to another, leaving him unfortunately incapable to hear what they were saying due to his distance from them. Whatever they were discussing, he had reason to worry. Never before had High Inquisitors called upon a _Portis_ regarding what seemed to be a simple investigation.

And yet, here he was being questioned by what were arguably some of the most powerful men and women in the Order. Something just did not feel right; as if something was being hidden from him. Whatever the case may be, if he wanted to keep his job, which kept him fed and housed, he would have to be excellent with this investigation. Despite being at odds with his supposed faith at the moment, this job in the Order had been the only thing keeping him alive, and he would be such a fool to try and get himself be labelled as a heretic if he made his thoughts known.

Such was the way of life.

Finally, the Inquisitors seemed to gain a renewed sense of life and purpose, as their heads seemed to rise in unison, gathering their collective gazes and pointing it towards him.

" _Portis_ Thorne, we would first like to thank you for attending this inquiry despite the short notice. Know that your efforts will make its way to Atom." Soft murmurs broke in agreement to this, before the speaking Inquisitor, Steven Webb, silenced them all with a stern hand.

"Unfortunately, we feel that this mission is too much, even for you."

He could not help it, raising an eyebrow in question. Either they were subtly insulting his skills, which he doubted, or his current case truly was more interesting than he had originally thought. Deciding to pursue his thoughts regarding the latter, he crossed his arms above his chest, taking a more relaxed stance as he looked up to the assembled faces of the Inquisitors.

"This case; there's something more to it, and I believe you know what it is, Inquisitors."

Webb merely pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair as his colleagues broke out once again into hushed whispers. For the lone _Portis_ in the Hall however, their actions were all he needed to know to confirm his suspicions. He was curious; and it was this curiosity that had often gotten him in trouble more often than not. He did not wait for whatever consensus they would come up with regarding his question, standing taller and more confident than he had stood before.

"So there is something more," he stated, locking eyes with Webb, "but what?"

The hushed whispers ceased, and Inquisitor Webb sat up straighter, letting out a breath he had not realized he was keeping, before waving his hands in the direction of one of the Temple Guards.

Thorne had turned to look at them, only catching the billow of their brown robes before they disappeared behind oak doors to the side of the Hall. When he turned his gaze back to the Inquisitors, Webb and all the others had a look of serious contemplation on their faces. They looked down on him, and for a fleeting moment Thorne worried that they were about to say something that he would ultimately regret in the end for asking questions he should not have.

Finally, Inquisitor Webb stood from his seat, leaning forward to touch the edge of his table as he gazed with intensity at him.

"What we are about to discuss, _Portis_ Thorne, is to never leave this room under any circumstance. Am I clear?" he asked, the stern gaze had seemingly growing more intense as the seconds until Thorne's answer passed by.

He could not answer, questions seemingly appearing in his mind all of a sudden, and he did not need to. The side-door the Guards had disappeared into suddenly opened, prompting him to turn his gaze. He watched, in fascination and with increased confusion, as a man walked up to stand beside him, his armor adorned with the finest gold anyone could ever set their eyes upon. A red cape was draped across his back, bearing a symbol he knew many feared and hated.

A golden bull was stitched on it, in a background of blood red.

* * *

 **?**

He awoke with a start, and almost immediately as if it was well practiced habit of his, Ethan began to inspect his surroundings. Nothing but darkness greeted his eyes, with the moon's light being covered by thick clouds that had just rolled in. Evidently, a storm was coming, as flashes of thunder and the sudden howling of winds made the dead grass all around him sway to life. He let his senses come to him, and slowly felt the many bruises, wounds, and badly done bandages all over him as he tried to make sense of his current situation.

Alexia. The gas station. The slavers.

The memories slowly crept up in his mind, but try as he might, Ethan could not remember the circumstances that led him in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but grass. Not even a stray herd of Brahmin could be seen, nor could the chirps of Deadbirds and whatever insect there currently was here could be heard. Only the hint of the moon's light could be seen from where he lay unmoving, watching as the flashes of thunder illuminated everything for the few seconds they were good for.

"F-f-fuck." Was all he could say, as a cold sensation seemed to wash over him as he tried to stand up. He could not, simply collapsing down on his back as sharp stabs of pain shot up from his lower back.

Was this it? Was this how he was to die? Alone, in a place vastly unfamiliar to him surrounded by nothing but Deadgrass and darkness. He could see very little, hear nearly nothing, and barely move any part of his body. It was scary to think about, much less actually be in such a situation like he was.

But that was just it; he was in that situation, with nothing else but the clothes on his back to keep him alive as he struggled stay calm. It began to rain, much like how he feared it would happen, and from a soft drizzle of raindrops kissing his cheek, Ethan was soon struggling to not drown in the puddle that was forming around him as the rain hammered down on him with all its might.

Suddenly, as fast as he had woken up, the pain receded. It felt unnatural; like water being splashed onto the many areas where his body ached and stung. There came a dullness with the water, numbing his senses until he could feel the pain no longer.

He raised a trembling hand up to his face, while letting the other touch his sides where his broken ribs seemed to poke out from his skin. He glided his fingertips over his own skin, feeling nothing but unblemished human flesh greet his roaming fingers.

What was going on?

The pain in his legs had gone, and he found himself standing up to his full height, the area around him suddenly being illuminated by an unknown light source. The rain had stopped, and all weight on him seemed to disappear. One by one his clothes had gone in a whisk of smoke, leaving nothing but his trusty yet damaged Pip-Boy on his arm, non-functioning after years of endless service to him.

He looked at it, knowing that at this point, it was nothing but a novelty in his life. A pang of guilt found itself in his stomach, saddened that his father's gift was no more. Burying it further down himself, he let his hands fall to his side, inspecting his environment. Fields of darkness stretched on for miles all around him, and Ethan found the eerie silence too uncomfortable to his tastes.

What was going on?

The eerie darkness did not last, as his environment suddenly changed. Was he on drugs? Jet maybe? Psycho? He didn't know what was going on, as he seemed to suddenly fly high in the air, zooming past cloud formations. He rose higher and higher, until he could see nothing else but the sun shining down on where the clouds ended.

It was a beautiful sight, and if this was what death felt like, then he welcomed it. He felt so free…so liberated. Free from the burdens of his life; of the wasteland. Was heaven real? He was excited to find out. Was God real?

Would he even be in heaven?

It did not take long for him to notice that he had never stopped flying; the clouds had long since been left behind by his form, as he continued to rise high above past the Sun and other planets, before he began to pick up speed. He did not feel scared anymore, nor was he confused. He was dead, and had accepted this.

The experience left him wanting more, and welcoming death, knowing that heaven might exist, had excited more than anything that his life had to offer. His mother, father, fallen friends; all were waiting on the other side.

Including her.

And so, as he flew past more planets and stars, and as each heavenly body seemed to look more and more like bright blurs as he sped through them, Ethan embraced the sensations; closing his eyes as finally, like he expected, nothing but a bright white light had consumed him.

* * *

" _Portis_ Thorne, this is Legate Horus, of the Legion." Inquisitor Webb said, a raised hand pointed to the direction of the man in question. A pleasing and welcoming smiled was plastered on his face, and idly, Thorne began to develop a small amount of worry in the pit of his stomach.

He greeted the man nonetheless, even shaking his hand as they both exchanged tight smiles with each other, both nodding slightly in acknowledgement of the other's presence.

"Now then, to business." Webb said, and almost immediately Temple Guards exited the Hall, locking each oak door behind them, leaving the Inquisitors, the Legate and he in absolute privacy as only the sounds of their own voices echoing back to them could be heard in the sealed Hall.

"Legate Horus here was sent by the Emperor himself, after their delegates came to us with a most interesting proposition." Webb announced, steering his gaze towards Thorne as he opened his arms wide, as if goading him into saying something.

He knew what was expected of him, and he knew what how to meet such expectations.

"The people of Order welcome you with open arms, Legate. May Atom's light shine down on you."

He could see it in his eyes; the disgust the Legate felt as the man was practically forced to act pleasantly with someone he considered inferior.

"And Augustus welcomes Atom's holy light." The man replied with a tight smile at him.

Thorne turned to look Webb in the eye, a curious and dangerous glint appearing in his eyes.

He did not like where this was going.

"And what proposition would this be?" he asked.

"The Order has been blessed for countless years by Atom's holiness; they've given us good crop yields, livestock and means to defend ourselves from aggressors who wish to take our blessings away from us." Webb began, marching the few steps down to the platforms on which the Legate and Thorne stood. "And it seems it is Atom's and the Lord Protector's will to share Atom's blessings with our neighbors, and in turn, they share their own blessings with us." Webb states, bearing down on the two men as if they were old friends, reuniting after long days of being away from each other.

He clapped them both on their shoulders, an action not the least bit appreciated by the Legate, who struggled to keep his tight-lipped smile on his face.

"All that they ask in exchange for this deal taking place is that we return someone to them. Someone important to their civilization's existence." Webb said, "The pair you're tracking down matches with the description some eyewitnesses have given during the Legion's initial investigation in the heretic city of Grand Island."

Realization struck Thorne, and almost immediately, he pieced together all the information that had been dumped on him in the last hour. Clarity began to set in, and for Thorne, it was the deal between the Order and the Legion that had him most worried. He may not fully believe in Atom, or of the way the Order was run, but he truly did love his people. He could do away with the slavers and all the men and women who condoned it, but the innocents; they were people he cared for the most. Those who wished simply to seek wisdom from the God they believed in, and live in a land safe from the cruelty of the world.

This was why his parents had converted to Atom's religion, and it was the reason he was born in this city. It pained him to see the Order turn back on each of the things they once stood for over the years.

And this recent deal…it smelled only like tragedy and death. Death for the Order, and enslavement for its people. Whatever the Legion touched had died a most painful death.

* * *

The light subsided, and all of his senses seemed to return to him all at once. He knew he was seated, even before he had lifted his head to try and look straight in front of him, where the light still continued to blind him. There was a dull sound, echoing again and again in his ear. He could vaguely make out his name amongst the muddled-out sounds, and like water receding from a beach, Ethan could suddenly hear and see clearly.

He was in a Vault, and not just any other Vault, but the very same one he had grown up with. All that he could remember were there; his old toys, books from school, his unkempt bed, his old Varmint Rifle, his Baseball bat; everything was there, where he remembered he had left them all those years ago.

Was he truly in a dream then? Tripping out from some drug? This couldn't be what heaven was, right? This wasn't heaven. Heaven did not bring painful memories back.

Memories like his best friend, who entered his room without so much as a knock, appearing out of breath as she took in his form.

"Good, you're awake." She said, running beside him to take out his backpack from underneath his bed. "You need to get out of here," Amata said, packing up his things in a frantic pace. "My dad's looking for you! Your dad disappeared in the middle of the night. You have to get out of here Ethan!"

"W-what?" He asked, confused about all that was happening. Was this real?

Amata meant to grab him, and for once, Ethan let her, hoping against nothing else that she was real.

But just as the arm was about to touch him, Amata pulled back, looking at him curiously before leaving his bag beside him. "Let's go!" she said, turning around.

"W-wait! Amata!" he screamed after her, and immediately Ethan lifted himself up from the bed. He followed her, time seeming to slow down as he turned the knob on the door controls to open it, not bothering to check what was on the other side first before flinging himself through the door.

* * *

He rushed himself out of the Palace, trying not to appear suspicious as he jogged lightly outside. A radiation storm had picked upin the City, showering the residents with the radioactive rain that many actively sought. Many danced and prayed in the rain, hoping that the Holy Atom may split the clouds in two and appear in between them.

"Good afternoon, _Portis_." A few guards said, legitimate smiles on their faces as he walked past them in a hurry.

"Good morning gentlemen." He replied, trying to sound casual as the clinks of his armor and weapons drowned out whatever else they were going to say. Everything smelled awful once he began walking down the populated and polluted streets; human excrement were scattered everywhere, the on duty cleaners unable to do anything but sweep away what they could from wherever they could.

The Holy City was not as Holy as everyone made it out to be. It was, to Thorne, humanity's personal hell on Earth.

But nothing would compare to what would happen should the Legion and the Order's deal push through. Nothing would ever compare to the massacre that would follow.

"Step aside." He intoned, pushing away a citizen as he ran, one place clear in his mind.

* * *

What greeted him was not something he expected, and no less than a second since exiting his room, Ethan found himself in a rusty old hallway. Years of walking back and forth in these hallowed halls were all Ethan needed to know that this was Rivet City.

"Fuck you! Fucking get away from me!" He heard someone yell, prompting him to hop over the door frames in each hallway of the ship, trying to get to the screaming voice. Gunshots rang out, reverberating inside the close quartered hallways.

"Get down! Get down! Where the fuck is security?"

He hurried his pace, those voices suddenly seeming familiar in his mind. He ran left then right, unable to find where the voices and gunshots were coming from. Growling and the sound of menacing creatures joined the pair of screaming voices and gunshots, and the familiar fear of losing people he cared about struck him in the chest once more. Adrenaline rushed through him as he quickened his pace beyond what he was already pushing himself, steering himself down one hallway and another, never seeming to find his objective.

"Guys!" he called out, trying to frantically find them, "It's me! It's Ethan! Where are you!"

* * *

"Are you sure, Anton?"

The official Order Ration Requisition Plate he had in his hands, which guaranteed its owner a month's supply of food and water, felt like a cheap and dirty trick to use on one of his closest 'allies,' who had long supplied him with information should he need it.

For the right price, of course.

Right now, he had little time to waste, and an even tinier amount of patience to haggle with the man standing across from him. Anton Wu was the only information broker to be trusted in the city; more so when you consider that he was the closest thing anyone could get to being a legitimate 'businessman' here.

"Of course, I wouldn't tell you something false. It'll ruin my reputation." He replied, chucking the cigarette he had to the ground, stepping on it.

Thorne flipped the plate into the man's hands, tucking away the handgun he had aimed at the man's bodyguard, from when the man had stood up to try and defend his boss once Thorne's patience had been…tested.

"I'm bringing you down if this is wrong, Wu." He said, before leaving the bar in a hurry.

The crowds around him were busy with their own personal activities for the day, walking to one place and another. He clicked his tongue in distaste at the sight of slaves in cages being paraded around in the city by merchants, hoping to get buyers from the folks in the richer side of town. Under normal circumstances, he would've made sure that these wagons had 'accidents,' slowing these merchant's profits from the slaves.

But he had bigger game to catch at the moment, as he pushed himself through the thickening crowd, trying to get to the old industrial district of the city from before the bombs had fallen.

"Get outta my way!" he commanded, his authority as a _Portis_ separating groups of people up. It had worked for the most part, allowing him to jog through before being stopped by another crowd of people.

He needed to get to his objective faster.

* * *

He turned another corner, and then another, before the last corner he turned suddenly shifted. He made to turn back, to try harder to help his friends, only for a solid wall to greet him. Like before, the new scenery was familiar to him, having spent thousands of hours there just training with the men and women he would was proud to have once called brothers.

 _No. No, not here too._ He thought, running forward and through the Citadel's courtyard, where dead bodies greeted him. Blood and chunks of armor were laid about, scattered all across the ground. An unfortunate man had been impaled on a ten-foot pole, while another had seemingly been smothered into paste on the ground, the red of his blood drenching the small foxhole that he lay in. Smoke and fires lit up the dark and gloomy sky, adding to the sense of fear and hopelessness growing inside the Lone Wanderer.

"Cross!" He called out, hoping that his friend would answer.

There was a gunshot, and Ethan, in a fit of desperation, ran towards the lone sound in the Capital Wasteland.

 _Ethan._

He stopped, confused.

 _Ethan._

It was a woman's voice, he was sure of it! He looked all around him, hoping for all this to end. The world seemed to spin around him, as he felt, subtly, the pain from when he had woken up come back in full force.

His crash to the ground had never felt slower than it did at that moment, as he watched the world go up sideways as he collapsed to the ground, sides aching once more, legs unable to move, with the many different scars and lacerations on his body reappearing like freshly opened wounds. He fell to the ground in extreme pain, his eyes and face squeezed in silent protest to what he felt.

It took him ages, but as he opened his eyes one last time, all he could see was his father looking down at him with pity in his eyes, just as his head hit the ground.

"Save them all."

And as his eyes began to feel heavy, Ethan lost sight of his father, or of the Brotherhood of Steel Paladin that had walked beside him with her golden locks, as yet another bright light engulfed him into unconsciousness.

* * *

"He's flatlining. God damn it, I need another Stimpak!"

He watched the healers surround the man, tubes and syringes in their hands as they walked around like lost ants, unsure of what to do.

Thorne himself felt the same, watching the man slip in and out of consciousness as he dragged him to the nearest clinic he could find, the images of what he had seen in the building still fresh in his mind. The walls had been painted red with blood, as the bodies of dead Roses lay scattered all around. Some were hung up from the ceiling, while others seemed to die in their sleep, stab wounds on their chests as they remained still in their makeshift beds, their eyes still closed.

Only this man, slipping in and out of consciousness, remained, alongside several children and women, all cowering in a corner as he arrived. The smell of spent munitions was still evident as he took in the sites he saw, his eyes in disbelief at the carnage caused.

But whomever it was that had caused this did not matter at the moment. The girl was not with them, and with her neither alive safely under his eye nor dead, the threat the Legion posed to the Order was still very much alive.

This man, whoever he was, was his only lead; he was the last man that saw the woman, and the only man who probably knew who their attackers were.

He prayed to Atom, if he indeed did exist, that this man may live.

The life or death of Caesar's only daughter and that of the Order depended on it.

* * *

"Heh, don't you worry princess."

Alexia felt the cold steel of the man's armored hand clasp her around the throat, bringing her up to eye level with him. He smiled viciously, a gold tooth flashing itself into existence.

"I'll be taking you back to where you belong _real_ soon."

 **A/N:**

Dragon Guy:

What gave you the idea he was a woman? Honest question mate.


	15. Project Outlast

**November 8, 2076  
Cheyenne Mountain Complex**

The cigarette in his mouth felt a little heavier than what he was normally used to. Perhaps it was the cold, always-winter air around here, or the doozy feeling he had since that morning; whatever it was, he just knew there was something wrong with his cigarette. Could it have been Julius, and his penchant for stealing his cigars before replacing them with cheap knock offs to avoid a confrontation with him? Or perhaps it was Colette, one of the base's nurses who was known for being a stalker: one who wasn't afraid to ruffle the feathers of a married man's wife.

Again, in his mind, whatever it was, his cigarette did not feel right.

Yet he smoked it still, walking along the hallowed halls of the site that would, at least in theory, prove to be the site of what could possibly be the biggest breakthrough in human history. The thought brought a smile to Nathan's face, nearly turning into a full-blown grin as he neared his intended destination. Double doors separated him from history; it was flanked by two guards, dressed completely in combat armor with rifles slung on their shoulders.

The security, to him at least, seemed a little overblown than usual. But, considering the gravity of what would be seen within, it was understandable. The Cheyenne Mountain Complex was a fortress; it would do its intended job.

"Hey doc. Evening!" Jerry, one of the guards, greeted him.

"Hey pal. Late shift huh?" he returned, a smile on his face as he took the offered clipboard from the man. He quickly affixed his signature on the attendance form, the excitement bubbling up within him with every second passing by.

"Ehh, you know how it is; Duffy's jumpy with things like this. All hands on this one." Jerry replied, waving a quick goodbye to the doctor as he passed him by, both exchanging a 'see you later' to each other.

It was the usual interaction between Nathan and those who guarded him; the same thing every single day since they had arrived in the base. Most occasions involved coffee, where Nathan would invite whomever was posted outside his office for a quick break. The way he saw it, it helped form friendships and proved to be helpful in his pursuit of outside news. The local paper only ever gave propaganda; news passed by word of mouth from soldier to soldier just happened to be more reliable.

His walk was short, with him stopping only once in a while to avoid men and women in lab coats running around, sheets of paper or mugs of coffee in their hands. To him, the sight was normal; what wasn't was that they were doing so on such a monumental day.

The hall itself was a short one. There were a few doors here and there, with rooms meant to serve as offices for the scientists who had larger purposes than all the others gathered up by the government. Stains of coffee could still be seen on the floor, if one were to truly look for them; a testament to the many sleepless nights they all had to endure to ensure success.

But the most important room, especially on this day, was the last room before the staircase leading to the demonstration area below. It was a rather large, rectangular room, capable of housing at least twenty people at once. Currently, seats of the same number were laid out, with desks provided for each. Were it not for the tinted observation window, Nathan could have mistaken it for a classroom. His team and others would often hold meetings or lectures inside it, possibly staining its true purpose of being an observation deck for an audience. Nonetheless, it too had pitched in on their path to success.

And how he hoped that today was, indeed, going to be a success.

"Doctor Kennedy!"

He immediately turned around, slightly startled by the commanding, baritone voice that echoed in the hall.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Doctor Kennedy!"

There were no flashing lights, or the crazed, noisy questions of a crowd of reporters like he expected. There was only a group of men dressed in the finest suits money could buy, led by a dark skinned man who wore a huge smile on his face. The General was here, and much as Nathan loathed the man's personality, he was the one keeping their dreams alive. So, even though he hated acts of trying to be popular, he humored the man.

He shook hands with the group of men, all while wearing the fake smile he had mastered throughout the years. The doubt of remembering even one of them was strong in him; all he wanted to do was get on with the show. He wanted to test the fruit of his and his team's labor.

"Doctor Kennedy here's gonna keep America on the map for the next thousand years gentlemen. That's how confident I am in this man." The General exclaimed with boisterous voice, smiling all the while as he clapped Nathan in the back with every high syllable he spoke.

There was an awkward laugh from the gathered men, before someone spoke up, loud enough for everybody to hear.

"Can't wait to test it out on the commies, General!"

A round of laughter followed suit, some much more enthusiastic than others. For his part, he could only smile and chuckle a little at their antics; the 'Red Menace' always showed the more irrational sides of everyone in government. Funny, true, but scary. The paranoia attached to even the smallest of things such as saying the word 'China' was a bit alarming. This nation had done nothing else in the past decade but worry about the Chinese, a paranoia stronger than what America used to harbor against the Soviets.

He did nothing else but tune out the rest of their conversation, shaking the General's hand one last time before heading down towards the demonstration area. He breathed in and out, sighing in thankfulness for being able to escape the gathered men above. He could see their silhouettes from the dark tint of the glass, cluing him in to the fact that they were all gathered in the observation room, patiently awaiting him to begin.

Lab assistants trotted along here and there, greeting him when they could. As he walked into the demonstration area, his head and eyes could not help but turn to the lone…thing sitting down in the middle of the room. It was on a chair; like one of those found in every dentist's office across the country. A large computer sat behind it, with a long, black chord extending from it towards the chair, attaching itself on a head firmly placed on the headrest of the seat.

It was marvelous sight for him, one he would not forget anytime soon (although the feeling of such a sight would be replaced in the events to come).

"Rivers, what's the situation man?" he said, dumping all that he had brought with him into an empty seat behind the control booth, where he would be during the test. Various valves, tubes and computer monitors were situated on it, giving him full control over how everything would go about today.

John Rivers, a balding, 60-year old man from Kansas City gave him a lopsided grin; his thick, highly graded tortoiseshell glasses falling down to his nose as he raised his head too look at him. Out of all the people present there, Nathan had the pleasure of calling this man his true friend. He trusted him most compared to anyone else there, proving invaluable to their venture with his knowledge on advanced mathematics and engineering. As such, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that Nathan had assigned him to the development of one of the most important key systems for their experiment.

"All's well, all's well." John answered, still smiling. His lab coat had been stained, no doubt with all he had had to do at the last minute to ensure the smoothness of their demonstration.

"Had a little trouble with clearing comm lines between Atlas and Mother. Shouldn't be too much of a bother during the experiment but-"

"Would be nice to be extra sure, right?" Nathan said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Gum?"

John waved a dismissive hand away to the offer, raising up a folder in Nathan's direction. "Atlas' core is a bit hotter than normal, but nothing too serious. Shouldn't be a problem when he tries to maintain the resonance field to a minimum."

Nathan nodded, taking the folder as he sat down. There was a moment of silence as both scientists studied their math; checked and rechecked every system there was while simultaneously fending off the doubts that had been creeping up their intellectual minds. Idly, both minds in the monotony of their work began to drift off into other matters. One thought and concentrated on the wonders involved with the monumental task facing the pair that day, while the other allowed his mind to drift off into concerns unrelated to his work.

Such thoughts brought his eyes to a solitary picture frame on his stations' desk, a movement that did not go unnoticed by John.

"Wife still think you're in Anchorage, huh?" John asked, sitting down beside his friend as both pencil and paper that had been gathered up in his hands were set down on the desk.

Nathan could only sigh, ruffling his hair a little bit. The question was so simple, yet the answer to it was a mine of guilt that he didn't think he could deal with on this day. Not when so much was at stake. Nonetheless, he found himself answering John's question; in an effort of being honest, more than anything.

"Still thinks I actually signed up." He replied, a small, if unsure, smile springing up on his face. "I don't mean to worry her but-"

"Relax. When all this is over, you're gonna be rich and famous; buy your broad some diamonds and you're good to go!" John said jokingly, his heads spread wide. The scruffy white beard on his face showed little signs of disturbance despite the large smile on his lips.

Nathan could only smile a little, a small part of him still guilty over the whole ordeal.

"Look, Nathan, what you've done here is more than what I could have done in all six decades of my life. She'll find out about this, I'm sure, such is life with women; but she'll also understand." John said, pressing a comforting hand on Nathan's shoulder. The small gesture brought a small smile on his face, and soon afterwards, Nathan nodded in acceptance.

"Besides, Atlas and this project looks like the world's best hope."

"Atlas _is_ miles better than P.A.M. Minus the future predictions at least." Nathan concurred.

"Damn straight."

They both laughed again, a brief moment between friends disturbed only by the sound of a microphone being turned on. The feedback, despite not being that loud, was enough to catch the attention of every scientist currently on the demonstration deck. They turned, in unison, towards the observation deck's tinted window. A side door leading to a catwalk above opened up, which was followed up by the General, Howard McDuff, walking out.

"Doctor Kennedy!" He called out, a hand placed just above his eyes as he tried to blot out the all too bright lights of the spotlights hooked up from above.

Nathan jumped out of his seat quickly, unknowingly ruffling a few papers behind him which John all but fixed. No one said a thing; they knew what would follow now. Their excitement and worry had turned into apprehension. Everyone wanted only one thing; for the day to be over with an overwhelming success mounted on their side.

"General?" Nathan said, hands clasped behind his back. He might not be a soldier, but he was disciplined as one the moment he entered into the D.I.A. Let it not be said that men of intelligence leaned more towards being unfit.

"We ready?" McDuff asked, his baritone, friendly voice from before in the hallway being replaced by the more authoritative and gruff one most in the complex had grown familiar with. Nathan's own, countless hours of experience with dealing with the man had given him all that he needed to know regarding how he should deal with him from thereon. He grew cautious and much more formal with his speech, at least in his mind. He would have to, if he was to come out of this without the usual sermons the man bathed anyone who even so much as stepped a toe out of line.

"Just a few more adjustments; make sure the security protocols are-"

"Kennedy, we've pushed back this demo ever since you said the same thing in the morning. No. We push ahead. I want you to start."

"But sir, I-"

"On the double, Kennedy."

He would have retorted; tried to force the issue with the man. But John's hand landing on his shoulder prevented him from doing so. In the back of his mind, he knew the General was right. He just wanted to make sure; to prepare for any eventuality. He did not want any of this going pear shaped.

"We're ready, Kennedy." Was all John said.

He looked at him intently, searching his face for any sign that would tell him the elder man's actual feelings towards the current situation. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, but for the moment, Nathan had to give it to him; he had either gotten really good at it, or he was, indeed, sure they were ready.

One thing was for sure; the lack of emotion from his closest friend in the Complex gave no ammunition to his already doubtful mind. He had very little else to use as an excuse to delay the inevitable.

With a final, resigned nod of his head, the scientists around him burst into action.

"Will do, sir." Nathan said, loud enough for the General to hear. The satisfaction etched on the man's face, along with emotions of excitement, was all Nathan could see as he headed back into the observation deck.

This was it.

His life's work, boiling down to this moment. Collegiate studies in engineering and physics were all at stake, as was his reputation.

But most importantly…

The future of the human race was on the line.

"Everyone! Stations!" John screamed out amidst the crowd of running individuals.

"Daniels! Status across the board?" John asked, standing beside Nathan behind the control booth just past the 'sleeping' form of Atlas, beside of which were four vertical contraptions. They had been placed in a way that their interior sides faced each other; the hexagonal, metal bars lining these interiors reflecting off of the opposites' reflective panels behind the same bars on each contraption. A solid, tiered metal platform lay in the middle, with its centermost tier holding a golden reflective panel that reflected, at certain angles, the entire room it was in.

It was Nathan's own design, built by John to perfection.

Well, everything in the room was.

"Main and emergency power is green. Atlas CPU on standby; coolant ready to inject. Containment grid is green; we're good to go Doc!"

John turned to look at Nathan, a small smile on his face. "Should you? Or should I?"

Nathan packed up whatever courage he had; he needed to do this, if only to cement his people's legacy with words he trusted only himself to deliver. If he was going to die there and then, better it be speaking with words of courage and hope, than to stay silent, letting his trusted friends take over for him.

It just wasn't in his personality to leave things be.

"I'll do it; I need to." He said, moving away from the control booth to stand near the tiered platform. One of the lab techs (Johnson, if he remembered right) handed him a microphone. He assumed it was for the benefit for those inside the observation deck, what with the room being sound proof; the only way for them to hear him was through the internal speakers within it.

"This thing on?" he asked, more of a question to the lab techs than for the people within the room. A thumbs-up from the man who gave the mic to him gave him the green light to speak.

"Good evening everyone." He began, "First off I'd like to thank you all for sparing a couple of hours from your very busy days to come down here. This wouldn't have been possible without the unending support of the U.S. Army and the D.I.A. So, uhm, thank you General McDuff."

There was a momentary round of applauses from members of his staff, but, obviously, he did not know if the men inside the observation deck were doing the same. With the lack of knowledge on it, he continued.

"As some of you may know, the war effort in Anchorage isn't in exactly the best situations. The Doomsday clock's been, well, as close as its' ever been to midnight since mankind entered the Nuclear age. There have been numerous projects already which tackles the continuity of the human race should things go sideways; the Vault project, E.D.E.N., just some of the things out there right now. But-"

At this, he gestured towards the many people surrounding him in the demonstration area, "we believe such projects are lacking. Thus, the reason for why you're all here. Ladies and Gentlemen, Project Outlast."

The lights dimmed, and the sound of a thousand electric volts echoed all around him. It was a dramatic start to his demonstration; but it had been all intentional. He may not have been sure on whether he would be giving this speech in the beginning, but he had engineered this beauty to achieve as much dramatic flair as possible.

"We've thought about building underwater habitats, about building bases on the moon and on mars; all three however, are not cost effective. In the long run, such attempts may provide even more problems to future citizens of such societies. Besides, the Vault project's proven to carry out the same mission parameters with far fewer costs entailed thanks to our friends at Vault-Tec." He said, as John fiddled with some controls behind the booth. There were sounds of other machines turning on behind Nathan, while the large, bulky contraption that was Atlas' external CPU whirred to life.

Lights on the metal tubes leading up to the head on the chair Nathan had observed earlier began blinking white, then red; they were ready to begin.

"We figured that the key to a long, sustainable future for our race lies in creating…or _finding_ an environment large enough and suitable enough to sustain life for a large number of _us._ Thus, the focus of Project Outlast since its inception a few years ago had always been, and will be demonstrated today, as being dimensional teleportation."

There were more whirrs behind him, and for a moment Nathan feared that something was wrong; _should_ it be that noisy? Should it even be noisy? He shook his doubtful feelings aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Our research has led to several findings; the creation of the resonance field as a side effect leaves behind an unknown substance that emits a low level of radiation, while affecting the mass properties of objects around it: more on that later. For now, I'd like to focus your collective attentions on the contraption behind me."

He pointed to the vertically aligned panels, whose lights were all lit up, bathing the room with its collection of red and white lights. It was pretty; a beautiful construction in his mind.

"This is the Field Caster; our portal leading to the unknown world we have discovered in previous experiments shall appear in the center. The four pillars shall produce the containment fields, preventing the portal from becoming too big and consuming everything in its path. Such matters shouldn't be a problem when we've perfected our research and design. For now, a precaution." Nathan said with a smile. He turned his back on the tinted window of the observation deck, looking at his friend John.

Without words, they nodded, and a surge of energy lit the room up as Atlas' CPU heated up, hot enough that Nathan felt it from where he stood. The mechanical whirrs inside it grew louder, telling him that whatever gear, transistor and chip there was inside was doubling its efforts.

Slowly, but surely, the testing area came to life.

There was nothing but light and noise at first, but before anyone knew it, the lone form sitting on the chair beside the Caster came to life. It clenched its fists first, which was then followed up by its toes curling, and its torso jostling up a few times before finally, as if it would always be the last part of a body, human or not, that would function after a night's rest did its eyes open.

It looked a human eye; its irises were created in such a way as to resemble a human pupil, and the inky white surrounding it had little red veins on it, much like a human's. It was the fact that these set of eyes were surrounded by a grey substance substituting for skin that separated it from being truly human. Underneath said substance was metal; metal strong and thick enough that it could be mistaken for being a human's as well.

Atlas, indeed, was an Artificial Intelligence given a body capable of conducting its mandate (not that it needed one).

It stood up on its legs, its body in what people could say was being in a state of undress. There were no organs to prove the observations of many, but it was undoubtedly structured after the male human body. It swept its artificial eyes around the room, carefully assessing everything it could see, just as Nathan intended for him to. Slowly, the visage of a smile appeared on his face, before the warm, welcoming facial features grew on his face as he saw Nathan.

"Doctor Kennedy; good morning. Checking…Correction; good evening."

Nathan simply smiled at him, crossing his arms above his chest as he passed on a nod towards him.

"G'evening too, Atlas. Ready to work?" he asked him.

The robot in question turned, undisturbed by the fact that a rather large tube was sticking out the back of his 'skull.' Perhaps the rush of information didn't surprise him? He was rather involved with the planning of the project from the start after all.

"Atlas here is a, well, an unusual A.I. that comes with the Dimensional Teleportation package Cheyenne's offering." Nathan said jokingly, uncaring if his audience would find it, or the situation, funny. "He's meant to be a on the same level as P.A.M., but over the course of this project, I believe him to be at a level that surpasses her." He said boastingly.

Atlas was his son, as much as P.A.M. was to another scientist's, and like any good parent would do, they would tell everyone how much better their son was than anybody else's.

"The manipulation of the resonance field involves a lot of miniature calculations, especially in the area of inhibiting the effective area of the portal. They've proven to be too much of a risk if left in the hands of a human mind; unless anyone here can calculate pi as fast as Atlas here can, its best if such calculations were left in Atlas' good hands. I…or that is, we, made Atlas for this purpose."

He turned once more to look at the robot, who was looking intently back at him with a thankful look on his face. The mech had always been demonstrative of its 'emotions,' and Nathan had yet to figure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Artificial Intelligence, the study of it that is, always brought up certain issues with it, such as Sentient machines arriving at a rebellious solution to the inevitable problem of co-existence with human kind.

For Atlas to show emotions was a sign of its processing capability arriving at a state of sentience. It was one of the things Nathan feared would go wrong; yet he trusted his gut. Nathan had taught him nothing but proper morals and habits, as was instilled upon him by the Army, and by his father. He had grown to become friend to him, and though the question of his sentience was something that needed to be answered down the line, Nathan had no fear of the robots' capabilities and intentions with him.

He was a trusted member of the team as much as John and Nathan were to everybody else.

As such, showing him that he was as 'human' as they were, and was trusted in every way, was Nathan's solution to their sentience problem. Everyone could co-exist; all it took was respect and tolerance.

"I am ready whenever you are, Doctor Kennedy. My connection to Mother is clear; she is ready to take hold of emergency systems, should the resonance field escape containment."

Nathan nodded to him, before nodding to everybody else in the testing area. As one, they all wore their goggles, heavily tinted so as to prevent any bright light from damaging their eyes. Jackets were worn, as were gloves and other clothing that would prevent the cold that would come, like it always did. Even the heat of Atlas' CPU could do little to blot the sensation out.

"Preliminary check complete. All systems go. We're spinning up the caster."

Slowly, from the ceiling, a cylindrical device dropped down, pointing straight down towards the central reflective panel. It was wired with even more tubes and power cables in a far messier arrangement compared to the others devices hooked up to whatever device it was that powered them up. The tension in the room was growing, and Nathan felt his jaws clench as the cylinder spun counter-clockwise.

This was it.

Atlas maneuvered himself around the Field Caster, his eyes gazing directly into the colorless shields being emitted from the now powered up pillars. The hexagonal bars had been heated up; they glowed an angry red, as the reflective panels on either side of them cast an illuminating glow as they formed the shields that linked up with every other pillar beside them.

It was a beauty.

"Extraction team reporting in! They have substance secretion! Mass shields holding. Radiation shields holding."

Nathan squinted his eyes at the scene; the cylinder was spinning madly now, and everything not tied down to the ground was vibrating immensely, as if an earthquake was currently happening. He could see, on the faces of the men and women who had sat with him since the project's inception, little signs of fear; they were accustomed to all this.

It was the men and women in the observation room that Nathan was worried about. How much more of this, without any signs of an actual portal appearing, could they take before they decided to pull the plug? He could imagine the General already doing crowd control as he tried to appease his 'fans.'

"Increase power output to Caster by zero-point-five percent!" Nathan ordered, watching John twist a valve ever so slightly. He walked up to stand beside him behind the control booth; he was needed there.

Quickly, his fingers fiddled with a keyboard, rapidly typing in commands, ensuring that everything so far was going smoothly.

"Caster's primed! We're hitting 150 on pressure. We need to drop to 100 or the heat sink's not gonna make it!" John yelled out amidst the loud whirring and jostles of the devices all around.

Nathan nodded, typing in a quick command on his keyboard, one directed at Atlas.

The robot in question turned, nodded, before directing his gaze back at the Caster.

Slowly, the levels dropped down to 100.

Volts of electricity began appearing from the cylinder, touching down to the reflective panel below it.

"Do it." Nathan said, and at John's slow nod, with what little hair he had flapping against the wind the Caster made, he pushed the lone red button on their control booth.

A pillar of light lit up from the Cylinder to the panel for roughly a moment before a bright light engulfed them all.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Sorry for the really long delay on this one. Work's been terrible the past few months, and I just couldn't spare what little time I had on little hobbies of mine such as this story. Nonetheless, I think it should be pointed out at this time that, indeed, I am NOT abandoning this story.**

 **For those of you confused with the timeline, I'd like to explain that the events in this story are often happening simultaneously. Since Nevada's story is quite advanced, I would like to note that, for the time being, I'd like to work on bringing these branching timelines together first before moving ahead. Which direction that takes me, well, let's see : )**

 **Again, I do apologize for the rather long delay in updates.**


	16. Dawn, Anew

**Westside, New Vegas  
0900 Hours  
May 14, 2283**

There was much to marvel about during the morning in New Vegas. Aside from the protection against the glaring heat inside air conditioned buildings, it was particularly appealing for many to see the vastly improves aesthetics of their surroundings. What was once a land of nothing but dull, golden sand that stretched as far as the eye could see was now teeming with green. Hedges sprung up from the soil, cleverly being used as borders between newly established houses by individuals who quickly saw their potential.

Sunflowers, trees, roses delicately cared for and a few crops for whatever farm could grow them all dominated the landscape. Even though this was true for the larger cities such as New Vegas itself, Nipton, the growing Goodsprings and the 188 Outpost, none could deny that this once dead wasteland was now teeming with life.

Or, at least, it was now.

For Jack "Preacher" Greer, he could not help but feel a sense of familiarity with the current situation of the political landscape. Everywhere he was at, be it restaurants or at Tram Stations, there was an air of nervous tension that seemed to follow even strangers that surrounded him. It did not help that posters, of which he was sure were nothing but propaganda, not too subtly denouncing the NCR had been set up where the public could see them. Things like ' _Citizens remain vigilant against Bears and Bulls'_ or _'We stand on our own two feet,'_ which would all harbor images that depicted the NCR in some way or fashion. The latter, in particular, featured an Zionite (many migrated over to them) standing over a mountain of Bulls and Bears, a jab at the Legion and the NCR for sure.

It was all aggravating a situation that, in his mind, resembled the one they were in just a few years ago, from a time when the NCR and the Legion both duked it out on what would become Alliance soil.

A ticking time bomb, as they say; one wrong move on either side and it would spark a war even he wasn't sure they would come out unscathed, despite the generous technological gifts those U.S. Army boys from Alaska gave them.

As he stepped off the Tram, which took him all the way from Primm to Westside where his office was (aptly named Radio Free), a gentle breeze swiped at his face the moment he stepped on to the busy street. Though few cars -which was still a term he would have to get used to- rolled along intersections and whatnot, mostly due to the strict requirements in acquiring a vehicle and a license, Jack could not help but feel a little bit satisfied with what he was seeing. These contraptions used to be things they could only watch on old tapes from the Old World, seeing as most in the present were hunks of rusting carcasses. The few that 'could' still work would sooner explode upon trying to start it than actually moving as intended.

Speaking of, the vehicles of today were 'clean.' Non-nuclear powered, meaning no explosions that would destroy a city block. He should know; he announced an advertisement for it on the radio.

"Good morning Jeremy." He greeted, stepping into the Truman Building which, if he remembered correctly, housed nearly three businesses aside from his own. The guard before him, dressed smartly in his standard issue grey uniform given by the security agency he had been working for, smiled politely at him. He raised a mug of hot coffee, enunciating a 'Good morning Mr. Greer' himself, before he sat down behind his security desk.

There were many men and women already running around the lobby, dressed in smart suits and dresses, they pranced from one corner of the lobby to another; newspapers, documents, suitcases, and other 'business-y' materials in their hands. A larger, concentrated group of individuals of which he was part of walked sullenly towards the elevators. Most, if not all, were no doubt running late for early morning meetings and the like. A smaller group sat patiently off to one side of the lobby, reading from newspapers or books; it did not take an observant eye to realize that most of them were young.

Applicants, then; most probably for positions that did not require much of an education, as was the situation in most cases of working young. Despite the K-12 program being mandatory for all citizens, not many chose to go to Central University. He understood the intent; many families despite the employment drive of the government with hundreds of projects in the country simply did not have the financial capabilities to support themselves. Even though the Alliance paid well, the fact of the matter was that these jobs were temporary. No project, no jobs, no pay. Thus, many applied to the new companies that began dotting the wasteland for positions that, even though some were low paying, were at least positions they could keep for a long time.

It wasn't the Alliance's fault; at least they tried to do something by promoting the growth of businesses. It was, though, still a slow, arduous process.

"Jack! Where the fuck were you man I've been trying to call you for hours now!"

Jack was a bit thrown off with the question; he had just arrived in the office after all. He had no time to set his things down and smooth the creases of his suit when Henry, who was his 'manager' in a way, began laying things into him. Jack was the stations' morning radio guy; news up front, entertainment and shit at the back. Mullet style as he liked to call it.

"I've had my phone cut for two weeks already Henry, I thought I told you that?" Jack said. He could smell the office's coffee already; it harbored a good, slow roast kind of taste which he loved, and Henry was in his way.

"Jack, shit happened last night man! Lee didn't come in last night; some kind of fucking leg injury or something -I dunno!"

"Henry, calm down." Jack said, raising a placating hand up to stop the man, who looked just about ready to start off into another rant.

For his part, the ginger haired man raised both hands in the air in exasperation, palms open. There was a red tinge to his cheeks, just as he tried to catch his breath. But the expression on his face; it all clued Jack in on the fact that something was bothering him. He had an inkling as to what it was, but God forbid, may he be wrong.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Henry did not answer for a moment, eyes squinting at him. "Didn't you fucking read the paper?"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursing into a thin line. "I cancelled my subscription to the Morning; thinking about switching over to Bulletin Daily." He answered curtly.

Henry nodded, though a sarcastic aura exhumed from him, as he casually turned his back on Jack, heading out of his office. No sooner had he left, he marched right back in, a newspaper in his hand.

Jack barely had his eyes on it for a few moments before, without hesitation, he threw it down on his desk with a shocked gasp.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah, I know. That shit's late already though; army has their balls deep into Pioche already."

Jack looked at him with worried eyes, casting his gaze back down to the paper. Slowly, he picked it up, unsure of whether he wanted to know this particular piece of news or not.

* * *

 **PIOCHE BESIEGED! ARMY TO STRIKE BACK!**

At 1:00 A.M. Alliance Standard Time today, the small city of Pioche, home to nearly two-thousand Alliance citizens and famed for being the 'Gateway of the East' for its role as an active border city in the northeast for the Federation was suddenly and deliberately attacked by an unknown group. Reports of an attack did not come in until 3:00 A.M. today.

The Army and Federation officials refused to comment on the situation, although a press briefing has been promised no later than today.

Alliance Armed Forces however were able to evacuate a number of civilians from the city, with a reported 568 individuals being rescued as of 4:00 A.M. today.

Jerry Steinfield, the Bulletin's very own reporter who had been in Pioche at the time of the attack, described the situation as being 'very grave.' He had been part of the civilians evacuated, and took the time to explain the situation. Over the phone, he reported that the attack 'Did not come off as being a direct assault on the city. They took parts of the city slowly, and caused a massive amount of confusion. I'm sure many didn't even know about it until they woke up when they bombed the Immigration Office.'

At around 2:38 A.M., an explosion at the Immigration Center rocked the city to the core, as eyewitness reports claim that the entire building had 'burned up into a black plume of cloud and debris.'

According to Mr. Steinfield, Law Enforcement buildings were some of the first buildings to be targeted, it seemed.

'We tried calling for help when they hit the hospital, but no one came.'

 **INADEQUATE TRAINING**

Despite the element of surprise in the attack, Mr. Steinfield, who had been in Pioche to cover the status of Immigration in the city, recounted that Law Enforcement in the city was recognized as being one of the best in the country.

'They take their jobs seriously.' He recounted, 'There's only a few hundred of them for a city with double their size, and they're doing a good job keeping drugs off the streets, and generally keeping crime rates down.'

When questioned on the forces' seemingly quick fold to the attack, Steinfield, who in the past was part of the Army before it was reorganized into the Federation Armed Forces, claims that '[They] weren't trained to repel an outside force, something that I think we definitely have to review once the situation has been resolved.'

 **ARMY RESPONSE**

Despite the lack of comments on the Army's part, Lieutenant Victor Linchfield, FAA Spokesperson, said that 'steps are being taken to remove the hostile presence in Pioche.'

Fort Barclay Peaks, an Army base set up a few months ago just off of Old Highway 93, renamed as the Grand National Highway, was alight with activity according to several eyewitness reports from towns around the area, just as reports of the attack began coming in. Many of the eyewitnesses speculate an immediate response from the Army, and whatever that response may be, many expect it to be swift and bloody.

* * *

Jack took a step back, letting go of the newspaper much calmer than he had been when he began reading it, oddly enough. At least, in his mind, it wasn't the NCR.

Or wasn't it?

"My God." Was his only reaction at the moment, covering his mouth with his hands as a light sweat formed on his forehead.

"As I said, that's old news. Army struck back hours ago. It's…" Henry turned to look at his watch (a commodity afforded by only a few in today's world) "9:57. Everybody else has a three-hour head start from us, cause somebody didn't buy a new phone line." He said, an annoyed look on his face as he turned back to look at Jack.

The man, for his part, looked sheepishly at the ground. "Yeah, sorry." Was his only response. In times like these, he really did need an open line of communication so he could easily be reached.

"Lucky for you, you won't get fired because I – " at this point, Henry had moved behind him, pushing him outside the door and nearer to what would be the Station's studio, where he usually did his regular broadcasts. "Buttered up your name by putting you on all the paperwork that points to _you,_ my jolly good friend, as the one who invited retired Army Lieutenant and famed hero of the Federation, Craig Boone. Have fun pal!"

 **Nellis Airforce Base  
0500 Hours  
May 14, 2283**

Philon walked in between the gathered UH-144's, or Falcons as they were more famously known. On lease from the UNSC, he could not help but feel slightly anxious for what he knew was coming. Their rotors were all spinning up, sending the air at his level into a frenzy; his hair whipped back and forth, as did the immaculate sand that had made its way onto the tarmac during the night's light sand storm. Blinking lights, yellow, white, and red, illuminated the ground; indicating landing pads for the many Falcons and Pelicans currently being deployed.

A grand total of thirty, he was told, would be used, alongside nearly fifty more assorted ground vehicles coming in from Fort Barclay Peaks which, again, were on loan from the UNSC.

How much would all of them cost combined? He shuddered at the thought; these contraptions, highly advanced, would probably cost more than what the Alliance's economy made in a year. Regardless of the scary question of 'what if these vehicles were destroyed,' there was still only one thing dominating Philon's mind; Pioche.

Who, in their right minds, would assault a city as big as Pioche? Moreover, who would decide to _just_ fuck with them without so much as an attempt at being extremely organized? And he was sure of it; this was not some other nation attacking them. They were organized in the beginning for sure, attacking key points of the city. But a well-trained, well-armed external force like the one all heads in the government immediately turned to once the news broke out would have followed the attack up with a strike on a different city, just to try and stretch out the defenses before retreating.

Thus, this was no country, but he was sure the NCR had something to do with this. He was.

He had been awoken nearly 2 hours in to the siege, something he had been incredibly infuriated at, before, an _hour later_ , he was brought before an emergency meeting with the Generals, the President, and the Chancellor. They had planned out a counter-strike, an immediate, small yet precise response to the growing crisis in Pioche. And now, hours into the siege, they chose to strike.

To say that he wasn't happy with how the government and army responded to the threat was an understatement; he wasn't happy with anything. He wasn't happy with the attack, why the Police provided little resistance, why the men in Barclay Peaks didn't do anything until two hours after the beginning of the attack, and about why a quick response didn't materialize until at least an hour after the Army had cordoned off the entire city.

Was it bureaucracy? Or, plain and simple and perhaps most frightening of all thoughts, incompetence? He would find out, beginning with why intelligence of an attack slipped through his fingers. Had he overlooked something? Perhaps even ignored some of the reports from his own field agents? He was not sure, but for the moment all he knew was that they had to retake Pioche back.

All around him, that wish was slowly coming into fruition. The 51st Infantry Battalion, which would come from Nellis and the 19th Armored Infantry Battalion from Barclay Peaks were both going to the town of Panaca, the staging ground for the counter attack into Pioche. Currently, the only force surrounding the city was the severely undermanned 21st Infantry Battalion, from the same regiment as the 51st and the 19th Armored.

Despite the rather large force, Philon could not ebb the feeling of anxiousness away. It would be fine, he kept thinking, only to realize the many times he had said the same and still, well, shit kept hitting the fan.

Men and women, whether they be Ghouls or smooth-skinned humans marched from one hangar to the next, while others marched sullenly towards the back hatches of Pelicans, ready for deployment. The deafening sounds of the Pelicans lifting up from the ground before blasting off full power into the sky would probably be the loudest thing these men would hear before they hit Pioche, where he expected decibels to reach their fervor amidst the loud music of battle.

And through it all, Philon would be there. He expected nothing less.

Being in the Intelligence business had its perks, and for the duration of the counter-attack, codenamed 'Operation Sucker Punch,' Philon would be watching from above. He would not miss this for the world.

There was a small, almost inaudible beep from his wrist, and it did not take long for him to realize that he had a new message from his Pip-Boy (upgraded with new features by the UNSC, as were all standard issue Pip-Boys for field agents). He raised his hand, idly tapping away and clicking at the analogue controls before, finally, he read the message.

 _Aircraft secure. Landing Pad Bravo._

It was straight to the point; its message clear.

He would be going to Pioche.

Dressed in nothing but the Army fatigues, he made his way to the solitary Landing Pad at the far end of the air base, where a single Falcon was. The noise of marching soldiers and aircraft taking off became a distant sound as he neared his private aircraft, whose rotors were all warmed up and spinning, casting an impossibly thick cloud of sand in the air. He had to squint his eyes as he neared it, fearing all the while that it may enter into his clothing.

"Sir!" A serviceman greeted, snapping off a quick salute which he quickly returned. "Falcon as you requested sir, ready for liftoff."

"Good!" He answered back, hopping into it. He checked his Pip-Boy again; 5:14 A.M. "Get me to Panaca, fast!" He ordered to the pilot, which was quickly followed through. The serviceman gave a quick salute, just as the Falcon began to lift off. The anxiousness inside Philon grew; was the army ready for this? Could they do it? Was all the information they had given them about the situation useful? Was it effective? Credible? He did not wish to send young men to their deaths based on false information.

He could not help but feel it; too many questions were on his mind with very little answers. He had suspicions, multiple hypothesis, theories and the like. But all of that he could not concentrate on, and deep down he knew he couldn't do it, not while a battle was at hand.

The Falcon flew low but fast, and within twenty minutes of leaving Nellis, Philon found his Falcon slowly touching down on a specially reserved makeshift landing area just outside the small town. Surrounding his lone craft were Pelicans and other Falcons, all with numerous armed personnel waiting patiently outside all of them. Warthogs and the UNSC's premier Personnel Carrier, the AAPC, were all also lined up neatly, soldiers with their big bags and rifles also waiting outside of them.

They were all geared up and ready to go, prompting Philon's anxiousness to grow.

A Colonel Myers met him just as he stepped off; she was the regimental commander, who had been ordered to report directly to either him or Major General Shaw, who partook in the planning of the counter-strike himself.

He was pretty proud of how organized the army was at least; but would anyone fault him for having fears that even with that level of organization, the army could _still_ fail? The Police did, and everyone knew Pioche had one of the best enforcers in the nation. Would the army be different?

So, with a heavy heart Philon swallowed the lump in his throat. Fail or not, they would all be going into this as one, and they would all go down as one if they failed. Pioche and its defense was the responsibility of every citizen willing and able, and as a nation, their image to the outside world, particularly their ability to defend themselves, rested on the battle up ahead.

"Sir, excited for the party?" Myers asked, after trotting off a quick salute that Philon returned.

Almost immediately, a dislike for the woman came over him.

He politely shook his head, a fake smile plastered on his face as the two walked side by side to a small tent in the middle of it all. Green on the outside, with a pair of heavily armed men waiting by its entrance, Philon assumed that this was to be the Command Centre of it all; where the commanders would be, organizing the attack.

The men allowed them inside after a quick salute, and for a moment as he entered, Philon could not help but be reminded of the many times he entered an NCR tent and found much of the same things he was now seeing.

Radio stations, set up neatly into one side was alight with activity, as the servicemen assigned to them chattered on endlessly with what appeared to be scouts pre-deployed before a counter-attack had been even drawn up. Other personnel, who appeared to be the Generals' staff members, surrounded a large, central table with a close-up map of Pioche, with every single street and city block clearly drawn up for everyone to see. Pins of different colors had been pushed down on several locations of the map, and Philon took a second to realize that they were key points of capture discussed during the planning.

"General, Director Hawke is here." Colonel Myers said, snapping a quick salute to the General, one which was dismissed with a simple wave of his hand.

"Director, just in time. We were about to brief our officers and NCOs." He said, shaking Philon's hand. Indeed, the tent was filled to the brim with men and women of varying 'leader' ranks, all assembled around the central table. Small murmurs of greetings echoed from them, which Philon dismissed simply as he and the General turned to the map with deep focus, reflected by all the gathered men and women in the shared tent.

"As I was saying," the General began, just as Philon straightened himself up beside him, "operations begin at 0600 Hours to the dot. Reports from the F.I. suggest a force of about 500 fighters, with most of the concentration here," he pointed down towards the northeast portion of the map, circling it with his finger, "Reports suggest that several buildings here including the City Hall and the Immigration Centre have been destroyed, but high-rise buildings still remain. Expect a lot of sniper fire to come from here," he traced an imaginary line from where he initially pointed to towards the south-west of the map, "to here."

"Sir, if I may, Infantry elements are going to be moving up from the South, Southwest and Northwest. Is there a diversionary element to this to simmer down on sniper fire sir?" Someone asked.

"Yes," the General answered, pointing to an area just outside the northeast portion of the map, where several blue arrows were drawn pointing towards the city, "the 19th armored are going to move in at exactly 0600. Infantry elements will move in thirty minutes afterwards; should be enough time for snipers to reposition."

There were murmurs of agreement, and Philon felt an odd satisfaction in him as he saw the gathered individuals jot notes on whatever piece of paper they had. A moment of silence washed over them, enough to let the information imparted unto them flow in their heads in silent contemplation.

Most, if not all of these inexperienced men, had fear.

"Remember," the General began once more, his voice wearier than before, as he leaned close to the gathered men, "This is where the world will look when it comes to a search for an example of our prowess. Let not this country down. Oo-ah?"

A resounding 'OO-AH!" followed his statement, and a big, but brief, smile from the general later, and all the gathered men were dismissed. It was go time.

5:50 A.M.

Things were about to begin, Philon thought, as he brought his arm back down to his side. Anxiousness still grew in him, even when the General turned his back to him, clapping him on his shoulder with a calm smile.

"This is it, huh?"

"Indeed." Philon answered back, a small, hesitant smile on his face. "History, I suppose. First deployment of our army."

"Most of these boys are greener than my son," Shaw replied, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. "I hope the love they have for this nation, and you, make all this worth it."

For a moment, a look of confusion marred Philon's face. Why him? Why him indeed.

"Why me?" he asked, an incredulous look on his face.

General Shaw merely smirked, shrugging his shoulders as he turned his back on him.

"You're a hero, always have been. You built this nation, took them in when no one else would. You fought off the NCR and Legion; you're a hero." He simply said.


	17. Trouble on the Homefront

**New Reno Outskirts  
1345 Hours  
May 14, 2283**

Come to think of it, it was always hot in the wastes. The much maligned heat had been a recurring topic out in the NCR for weeks now, with many theories ranging from Aliens to Ghouls sucking up the cold to blaming everything on the Alliance were considered to be the most famous gossip of anyone aged fuck it to fuck all.

"Andre!" Three fucking loud thuds on his door came after that, with another "Andre!" following it up. There was a far angrier slamming of it open that really annoyed the fuck out of him.

"Fuck off!" Was his only reply, propping his feet up on the dirty table in front of him. Surrounding him were all the disposed of (read: empty) bottles of alcohol he had been drinking for three days straight. Sobriety was not Andre Walker's thing, and it never would. Cigarettes, cheap ones grown and sold in New Reno, which were almost always mixed with fucking wood of all things, lay on his couch by the packets. Twelve of them at least were in line for the moment Andre threw another drinking session for himself, by himself, in his own house.

Speaking of which, he would _not_ be told off in his _own_ house by some dumb fuck called his neighbor.

"I'm calling the fucking Enforcers on you if you don't stop this shit!" he threatened, actually seeming like he meant it.

Andre could only roll his eyes at him, insulted that a prick like Robert the fucking coward would even try to threaten his person. It wasn't cool.

He stood up, and in one quick motion whipped out his .357, pointing it in between Robert's eyes.

"What was that? What was that? I thought I heard you say you'd call the fucking Poes on me." He said, whipping the pistol around like some crazed madman, enough for the fucking shit to get scared. Yeah, you better fucking run after I'm through with you.

"Now why is it, that in a hot fucking afternoon like this, couldn't you leave me the fuck alone?" he asked.

"I-I'm sorry, it-it's just that my k-kids f-f-find…n-noisy." He blurted out, hands thrown up non-aggressively. Pfsh. This shit happened all the time it was getting old; at first it was funny watching the prick piss himself scared. Now? Not so much entertainment could be found there. His face had become worn out in Andre's head.

"Oh, oh is that it?" Andre asked, mockingly waving the gun around some more. "Maybe your whore of a wife can explain why the fuck their daddy has no head when he came back, and why he was chopped up into tiny little pieces squeezed into their fucking mail box huh?"

"N-NO! PLEASE!" was his only response, before Andre, quite literally, turned him around, slamming the butt of his gun to his back. He kicked him out of his house, watching the slightly pudgy man whimper in fear as he took off running to the house opposite of his.

"Don't tell me to shut the fuck up with my noise next time Robert! I will fuck and make as much noise as I want! I'll even fuck your wife for you!" He screamed after him, before an exasperated growl came from him as he turned back into his house, slamming the door behind him.

A total waste of fucking time.

He threw the pistol on his table, slamming the radio to the maximum volume it could handle.

Maybe that was a bad decision. If Johnny Guitar came along again, he might just shoot the fucking thing stupid.

Thankfully, the annoying song did not come along, and he was able to enjoy the slow afternoon with some tunes he truly liked. A little bit of the King's music here, a glass of whiskey there with a little cigarette to the side, and already Andre felt like he was on Cloud 9. Maybe a shot of Jet or…Psycho would make things better? Shit always made parties better right?

Oh, he knew he was a mess of a man. He always harbored that disheveled look; he dug it, unlike the Gangster fucking clothing those idiots in New Reno liked to wear. It felt a little too constricting, and in his line of work, fucking constricting meant life and death.

As he tied up an elastic band on his arm, slowly prepping a needle with a lighter, he looked back on the good times he fucked those goons over big time, coming out of a pitched fight twelve fucking million dollars richer with about a hundred men making him all the drugs and money he could ever fucking want in life.

But then fucking idiots would ask him, 'Why don't you move to San Franciso' or 'Why not move to NCR City,' or some other dumb fucking question. He'd thump em' in the head and say that 'No one's gonna come after me outside New Reno baby.'

Heh, he was funny.

Just as he was about to insert the fucking needle into his itching arm, a knock, three solid ones, came.

"Oh fucking hell what the fuck do you need?!" He blurted out, throwing the damned syringe away from him as he stood up, visibly fuming.

The knocking never stopped, raising his temper even higher than it already was with the constant, annoying thumps on the wood. Finally, he turned the knob to it around, pulling it inwards with such force that he could feel a slight breeze from the motion.

Whoever was outside his fucking door, this wasn't what he was expecting. Smartly dressed in a finely made and pressed suit with a fedora and a small black briefcase in his bag, the NCR-Cunt-sentative had the audacity to smile at him, entering _his_ house without so much as a question for permission.

Then again, they always did this, and many other things to infuriate him.

He simply sauntered in like he owned the place, looking around in feigned fascination; the smell and look of his house's interior did not seem to perturb him, as he casually shrugged and moved towards his couch.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you not to fucking come to my house!" He all but yelled at him, standing upright behind the agent, who had bent forward towards the table.

"We do whatever we want, Mr. Walker. Always." He simply said, before he stood up to his full height, the rubber strip Andre had been using earlier in his, dangling from two fingers as he raised it into the light. "Do be careful what you do with this, or who sees. Might not be able to save you from serving time." He said, dropping it onto the floor much to Andre's annoyance.

The well-dressed man sat on the couch opposite of where Andre had been trying to get high, taking out a finely crafted cigar; not the same, thin and short ones like what Andre had, but thick, brown and freshly harvested high-quality ones probably taken from the farms all the way down in The Hub. He would never admit it, but Andre _was_ a bit jealous of the man's possession.

For his part, Andre, annoyed as he was, simply sat down on another seat, crossing his legs whilst tapping his feet, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the man to get on with whatever the fuck his drugs would lead to.

"You wouldn't let that happen." He simple said, challenging the man opposite of him.

"Mr. Walker, you are on our payroll. If anyone other than us caught you drugging up then you being an asset of ours does not exclude you from the law." Was his curt, straight to the point reply. He lit the cigar in his mouth, and even Andre found himself breathing deeply, trying to catch a whiff of that thousand-dollar tobacco.

Finally, he popped the question he had on his mind.

"Right, well, what the fuck do you want then?"

The agent smiled, puffing out a cloud of smoke whilst he twiddled with the thick cigar he held between two fingers.

"I'm glad you asked,"

Like fuck you are.

The man crossed his own legs before deftly opening up his suitcase with one hand.

"I am here to debrief you on the events surrounding our little…arrangement for the well-meaning folk of Pioche." He said, taking out a recorder from his suitcase, propping it down on the table before him.

Andre snorted. Of course them bobs were here for that; sneaky fucking cockroaches is all they are in his eyes, and this business with the Federation brought out nothing but the worst in em' fucks.

"Well, the fuck you wanna ask me about that shit?"

"In our last meeting, you were tasked with sending a sizable force to Pioche to wreak havoc. According to the radio stations we can pick up from across the border, that seems to be working out well so far. Care to tell me exactly what you did?" The agent asked, still with that stupid shit eating grin on his face.

"I did what you asked me to," Andre said in reply, crossing his arms above his chest, as he adopted a sneer. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"That's not my question." The agent replied, a little hint of annoyance lacing his voice. "I want to know how many men you sent in, and where they're from? And you best not be lying now." He said in an almost sing-song voice.

His brows knit themselves together, a look of frustration evident on the hardened criminal's face. He hoped, quietly, that the man would leave and ask him again in another time.

"Some border crossing raiders from the North, way outside NCR territories okay?"

"And these men just seemingly were passing by your house for you to hire them?"

"They were camping outside Inlay, just fucking north of New Reno; your fucking Ranger boys missed them. They missing a few good men?" He said, and although he knew it was a jab at most at the loss of some Ranger veterans, the situation to use the insult was far too tempting to pass up. The comment had its intended effect, as the agent in front of him lost some of his smile, ceasing his smoking for a moment before, in a blink of an eye, he smiled curtly, flicking away the burned-out embers of his cigar before he took it back into his mouth again.

"Good, and how did you go about with the hire?"

"Paid some freelancer in the smuggling business; got most of the info on the city from him too. Passed it along to them raiders, and you would not believe how quick they came running to the city, all five hundred of em cunts." He said as if it were the most well-known fact in the world.

"Smugglers?"

"Yeah, you know, those boys sneaking outers from NCR into the Federation."

There was a nod of understanding from the agent, who had idly taken out a notepad from his suit, writing some quick notes down on it before hiding it away once more. He hummed this annoying tune; one that Andre would not be able to forget anytime soon.

"How much?"

"Half a million to pay em for it." Andre answered, which prompted the agent to whistle in fascination.

"So you gambled half of the money we paid you eh?"

"So long as you pay me what I've earned yes?"

The agent nodded in acceptance, cracking his neck and knuckles, still puffing out plumes of smoke from his mouth.

"Was it fucking worth it?" Andre asked.

"The threat the Federation poses-"

"Please," Andre blurted out, a guffaw escaping him as he grabbed a glass already filled up with Whiskey, "don't lie to me. I've been around you agents long enough to know that this is all just some war mongering bullshit. Just like how y'all were all up for occupying em' New Vegas folk years before the Legion tried taking Hoover Dam."

His laughter, it seemed, was not contagious, as the look of annoyance on the man opposite of him grew with each passing second he chuckled out loud.

"That's neither here nor-"

"What, you fucking scared to admit it to me? Come on fellah, your people and me? Partners for years. If I wanted to sell you out, I'd have done it." He remarked, a remarkably huge grin upon his face. His advanced age came with truckloads of experience, as he recounted all the times of how dirty agents like the one across from him could get on the top of his head.

All of them were smart and cunning, with a penchant for patience unlike the feeble-minded cattle that thrived in the wastes. They were all parasites, feeding off of the grand successes of the NCR like a babe to a tit. While the great many followed the systems, these agent types? They broke them; men, after all, ruled while slaves obey.

There was no reply from the agent, who, as it occurred to Andre, did not have the graciousness to introduce himself before so callously sauntering into his home without seeking so much as a permission from him. Andre didn't really care either way; it was a different man or woman every time they contacted him. Frankly he was finding the little exercise a bit refreshing; new faces meant new people to talk to, more stories.

And how he loved stories.

Last week, it had been an aged woman around his aged, though still quite spry, spinning him bogus tales he could only nod rudely to, uncaring if he seemed like a piece of shit listener. The time when he was commissioned for this particular job was, perhaps, the best story he had heard from all the 'agents' he had encountered.

The story of the Alliance (or the Federation, depending on who you asked); the glasses of Whiskey he fed the fucker set his lips loose, enough for him to learn a shit ton of things he doubted he would have without the fucking clearance to know.

It all seemed a bit suspect; why on Earth some remnant of the U.S. Army would choose to impart their seemingly amazing discoveries with a country that could barely be called that was beyond him. The NCR, despite the callous stupidity of many of its officials with a staggeringly (and equally) stupid populace seemed like a better option for this sort of thing. It had the industry, the strength, the economy and the stability that other aspiring nations could only dream about.

But no, they had to choose New fucking Vegas. Those boys might have duped all them dumb sons of bitches squabbling at the bottom of the food chain, a lot of them fucking agents included, but there was no fooling Andre.

"I appreciate the hospitality," the agent blurted out, a distasteful look on his face that led Andre to believe that he was anything but thankful or appreciative of his surroundings, "but I must go." He declared, standing up.

Andre chuckled a little, following his every movement with a calculating eye. The glass of Whiskey in his hands had become a little heavy, as he felt every particle of energy in him focus on observing the man silently walking away from him.

"Offended?" he asked, just before the agent had walked out from the main door. He stopped in his tracks, briefcase being tightly held in one hand, while his other clenched and unclenched in apparent frustration.

"We…" he began, "thank you for your service for the Republic, Mr. Walker." There was an air of finality that laced his voice, as he kept his back turned towards Andre without so much as a flinch of movement that indicated his desire to face him whilst he spoke.

"Also," he began once more, a food already stepping outside Andre's doorstep.

"We know you're hiding the Charlatan. Keep the package safe…"

"Or else?"

At this point, the agent turned back to look at him, his face devoid of any emotion. Blue, eagle like eyes, unblinking in the bright sun, stared at him blankly.

"Or else we bury you." Was all he said, before stepping out into the world beyond Andre's house. The following shutting of his door further deepened his reverie, and for once, Andre sat quietly on his couch, his paraphernalia for drugs forgotten.

* * *

 **Panaca, Northeastern Desert, Alliance Federation  
0545 Hours  
May 14, 2283**

It was an amazing sight; one Andrew would not be forgetting anytime soon. Aircraft of different types smoothly flew above them, circling round and round until finally, their pilots found something they liked about where they were to land. Sand flew up, courtesy of the tremendous winds multiple propellers and engines produced, and as expected with his wiry frame and a bit larger-than-him armor that more than paired up with his larger-than-his-head helmet, sand found its way into his clothing.

This, more than anything else, annoyed him to end. As he continued on his steady pace of jogging, MA37 Rifle in hand, he could not help but slightly exaggerate his movements, if only to loosen up his clothing hoping that, in vain, the sand would come out. Add to the fact that the early morning Nevadan heat (Nevada, as they were told, used to be the name of this particular territory of the Old World), Andrew wished in the back of his mind for this particular deployment to be cancelled.

He figured that it was only the paranoia of the higher ups that this even happened in the first place. It was supposed to be six months…six months of training. And they'd only had, what? Barely two months of S.B.U.T.? Barely half of their troop knew how to handle a gun properly, much less fire one, and here they were being deployed into a real-time combat situation. Granted, all they'd really be doing would be observe; the ones who'd actually were going to fight had been in the army even before the Federation had existed, meaning a bulk of them made up the N.V.A. of before. Pretty cool if you ask Andrew. They weren't exactly vets, but they probably had dirtier hands than them.

Private First-Class Andrew Hill of the 9th Artillery Battalion, 901st Regiment was not scared of a fight; but he'd have to hand the glory to the men and women of the 51st, the 21st, and the 19th Armored. Sending Andrew's Battalion in would probably cause more death than help to the besieged people of Pioche.

"Platoon, HALT!"

There was a simultaneous and almost instantaneous snap, as the Andrew's entire group halted their march immediately following the issued order. They snapped to attention, rifles flying straight up on their shoulders before everyone stood stock still. Quickly following this a call for being at ease had been given, and like ants scattering in the midst of a falling boot, the entire platoon split up, covering both sides of the road they had been marching on.

As they sat around, sand still in the air around them, only then did Andrew realize how far they had marched from their main camp just outside the town of Panaca. Gone were the haphazardly set up tents of the army and the makeshift landing pads scattered all over the large space they had occupied; instead, houses and small shops dominated their platoon's periphery.

"Whoever the fuck had the balls to attack Pioche, then damn are they gonna get their asses screwed."

"Who's doing the screwing? You or your wife?"

A round of chuckles followed the joke, as Andrew took note of his friends, sitting closely beside him. No canteens of water were opened; not a single drop had been drunk. All of them held no illusions that the following hours would be their longest. The brains of higher rank than them sent them there for a reason, yes? They had a big-ish army, and no doubt there were men more qualified than them to act as support or as reinforcements as most men in the 9th knew. So where were they?

See, it was all simple to deduce in Andrew's mind; like he had explained to his fellow troopers, those same 'qualified' soldiers were needed to secure the borders and the capital, particularly the area near the NCR occupied Goldfield. Everyone at first thought it was the NCR; the two nations had been trading jabs at each other for months now. Whether it was the thinly veiled propaganda and insults in the Federation's posters and newspapers, or the NCR's not-too-subtle flexing of their martial muscles in the form of deploying troops all along the western and northern border they shared with the Federation, and it wasn't hard to imagine a situation where everyone woke up one day to one side striking at the other.

Thus, here they were. The spare tires as the apparently revived saying went. Of course, despite their acceptance of their situation, the fear nearly everyone experienced at the moment could not be avoided. More than a few in the 9th had to be calmed down, with anxiety attacks hitting the troopers hard. Moral had been, as Andrew observed, staggeringly low. All their fancy weapons after all, would not help them halt a bullet hell bent on tearing into their flesh and bone. It was the way of life in the army.

Clyde and Ben, perhaps the only two men he had grown close to during his time in SBUT were, annoyingly enough, their normal selves. Always joking and always chirpy, the humor with which they treated their chosen line of work didn't seem contagious, as everybody else in the platoon, Andrew included, remained glum at the prospect of battle.

"Andy, Andy my boy," said one of them, Andrew wasn't sure who, as a friendly tap came up against his leg. "How, how can you not be smiling at all this man?"

"At what?" Andrew asked, looking up and realizing that it had been Clyde who was talking to him. Ben was off…somewhere, and all the rest of the platoon, including Sarge De Santa, sat quietly behind whatever cover they could find.

"This? Glory time my man!" he replied, slipping down to sit beside him, throwing up more sand into the air. An audible crunch echoed in the silence as he sat down, drowning out Andrew's deep sigh. Close as he might be to the man, he just couldn't help but feel comfortable with what he was getting at.

"Nothing glorious about all this."

"Oh come on, bastards attack and here we are, riding in to save the day! Babes'll wanna su-"

"Look, Clyde, I know you haven't fucked anyone in probably, well, ever, but no one, not a single one in this platoon wants this kind of shit." Andrew answered, getting a little testy with the man. "Hell, most of us just wants to fucking put food on the table man. We at war? Fine, we go cause we need to. But no need to fucking go around glolilying it."

"Glorifying."

Andrew snapped his head around, rolling his eyes at the sight of Peter, who was the most educated one out of all them (well, probably).

"Whatever." Was all he replied. Clyde for his part did not speak, simply shrugging his shoulders.

Andrew sighed. No hope for that one.

It was true, what he said though. None of them desired anything more than the peace and security the Federation offered. Perhaps, to some, the opportunity dangled in front of every citizen's eyes was enough, which was why individuals like they, the few who would defend this nation, existed. They would do what no one else would, but should they not be needed, then peace was what they preached. Well, maybe the soldiers did; the higher ups tended to want tensions to grow between the NCR and Federation. Nothing like propaganda to sow doubt while fanning the flames.

War mongering fools, the lot of them.

"You gonna save Pioche?"

Well, now that was a voice Andrew wasn't expecting to hear; too high pitched for being a man or woman around their age. Much too high pitched. He looked around, hands lowered to his side in non-aggressive fashion. What greeted him as he turned around, standing at the edge of the road he had been sitting on was a young boy. Barely ten years old in his eyes, sandy haired with a few freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, the young man looked up at him with beady eyes filled a little bit of curiosity and hope.

"My momma said you were gonna rescue them folks up in Pioche. I have a cousin there, she's five and I think that-"

"Uh, hi?"

The greeting came out sounding dumber than he would've liked, but he was more than a little bit shocked at the presence of a child near an active warzone. He would have thought that people here would've been moved out of the town at the very least, for their own safety of course. So indeed, he was a bit confused, even a little bit curious as to what the child wanted from them.

The kid simply smiled, a goofy, one tooth missing smile with the biggest doe eyes Andrew had seen staring up at him in boyish wonder.

"What are you doing here?" Andrew asked.

"Oh look, Andy made a friend."

Andrew gave Clyde the most annoyed look he could muster, despite the lack of reaction from the rest of the troopers in their platoon. He simply shook his head, shaking it afterwards from side to side in a show of exasperation. He walked forward, rifle slung to his back as, in one smooth motion, he carried the child in his arms. The boy did not objects, nor did he make any sort of noise, just a small 'whoah' as he came up close and personal to the gear Andrew had over him.

"What's your name?" he asked the boy, who simple leaned his head back to take a clearer look at Andrew's armor.

"Will." The boy answered, tracing the stitched Starbird Andrew had on the sides of his uniform's shoulders.

"Will huh?" Andrew asked, "I'm sure your cousin is fine. Our friends are working real hard to get rid of em raiders." He said.

The boy looked back at him in confusion mixed with disbelief.

"Raiders attacked my cousin's home?"

Andrew didn't want to actually answer; he should've kept his mouth shut. Who really knew who attacked anyway? Instead, he chose to ask another question.

"Where d'you live? Does your mom know you're outside?"

A shake of his head, followed by a finger pointing to the solitary house at the end of the street told Andrew the answers to his questions. He nodded curtly to the boy, smiling gently as he let him back down on the ground and walked alongside him back to the boy's house, who clutched at his hand all the way back to his home.

Panaca was, simply put, a sleepy little town whose only real claim to fame was being the next settlement immigrants entering from Pioche got to see on their way into the heart of the Federation. It was, perhaps, this reason alone that drove its residents into establishing multiple businesses in the town, to try and generate income from wary travelers seeking a warm meal and lodgings, a break from whatever hell they had escaped from. Thus, it wasn't much of a surprise to see most of the houses they passed to be open already; whether they were awoken by the multiple aircraft flying above them and the army setting up shop literally right next to their town or their own, natural senses from having to develop a shrewd working ethic to take advantage of the unique business opportunity they had, Andrew wasn't sure.

Nevertheless, the moment he knocked on the wooden door to the boy's supposed house, he was a little bit surprised with how quickly it opened for him.

A man, taller than him for sure by a good three inches with a heavily muscled frame and wiry beard hiding his chin and cheeks from view, met him at the doorway. Already, he could sense something was off with him. The smell of alcohol reeked from him, and Will, whether it was because of a domestic issue or something else entirely, half hid behind his right leg. Idly, Andrew moved his rifle a little bit further away from the boy.

"Yeah?"

His voice was gruff, and the sound of intoxication could be heard from a mile away based alone on the little slur in it. Who the fuck drank early in the fucking morning?

"Sorry to bother you sir," Andrew began, respectfully refusing to give in to his urge to just take the boy with him for the rest of the day, "but I found this boy wandering alone. We happened to come up on him while we were on a run." He explained, pushing Will forward, who struggled a little against his efforts.

The man took a look at him, unsteady eyes meeting the innocent ones of the boy beside him, and almost immediately a look of anger came upon his face.

Andrew almost immediately regretted not just walking away from him.

"You no good piece o- get your ass back inside boy!" He all but screamed out, prompting the already scared boy beside him to run immediately inside, not letting Andrew get even a hold of his shirt. They shared a brief look, just as the boy passed the doorframe; innocent eyes meeting hardened ones.

Should Andrew even try to intervene in on this? This wasn't his business to fucking begin with.

"Thanks." The man said, a forced smile plastered on his face.

"Everything okay sir?" he asked, more than a little bit suspicious about everything.

There was a glimpse of something; a brief flash of blue that crossed behind the man, who had come out from the doorway at this point. The brightness of the lights within the small house all but blotted out any discernable features of whoever it was behind him, who was now looking slightly from outside the doorway. He or she was probably as tall as Andrew himself, yet with a leaner figure. It did not take long for him to understand that, in fact, this was a woman.

And he chose to address her.

"Ma'm?"

"We're fine." The man immediately followed up, standing up to his full height, blocking Andrew from being able to see inside the doorway properly.

Andrew ignored him, giving him a deathly stare that basically meant 'don't fuck with me,' letting the rifle he had on slide down over his shoulder. He hugged it close to his chest, and quite visibly the man caught on to the message, stepping backwards slightly.

"Everything okay ma'm?" he asked, hoping that she would answer no. That would justify him breaking the man's bones.

Unfortunately, no reply came, only the downtrodden body language of the woman stepping back inside the house, away from view. There was a moment of silence, with Andrew staring at the spot where the woman had been, and the man in front of him staring at his form as if wishing for his death.

In the back of his mind, Andrew could not help the unease.

"We're fine, boy scout, you can go." Was the man's final message to him, as he turned his back on Andrew, rushing inside the house in a calm fashion. He could hear the heavy breathing; fucking out of shape little shit that he was.

The unease in him grew, just as the door closed. The rifle in his hands never left, nor was it ever dropped down ever again.

It wouldn't be after he had sat back down with Clyde did Andrew notice that he had unconsciously turned his safety off.


End file.
